Hope
by I've Been a Labrat
Summary: It is 1977. With the support of his close friends, Charles has gathered courage to reestablish a school in Haifa. With the birth of Charles's son, however, he is forced to reassess his supposed acceptance of all people, and right the wrongs he has done.
1. Playground

_Welcome back to my readers from "Join Me." I'm really excited to get on with this fic, as I think it'll be interesting to show how the X-Men have developed over the past three years. Also, I chose Israel for their new location since it's iconic as the place Charles and Erik met in the comics. Also, just as a warning, I plan to play out Erik as being one of those psycho parents who likes to beat people up when they even slightly mess with Lorna. Because... he does that anyway, without a kid involved.  
_

* * *

**Part I**

**Sunrise**

_At last my life has come along.  
My lonely days are over and life is like a song.  
_– _Etta James_

Erik had to wonder at his life these days. It had evolved into something unrecognizable over the years, something he never could have imagined, even in his wildest dreams, would happen to someone like him. Someone who sought deadly revenge even as a boy.

Yet here he was, answering questions asked of him by the little girl gripping his finger tightly, her hands too small to grasp his whole hand. Her brown hair was down to her middle back, long and loose because she'd insisted he not put it into a braid today. Green eyes sparkled with excitement, as they were walking to the playground close by the house, and for a three year old, going to the same playground they went to most days out of the week was quite possibly the best thing to ever happen in her short life.

He chuckled when Lorna let out an excited yelp and pointed wildly at the playground, babbling out a repeated "Vati, vati, vati, look, look, look, look, there's the playground, look, Vati, look, do you see it, look" as they drew nearer. Erik's eyes scanned the grounds, looking over the details of the parents and other children nearby. Honestly, he wouldn't put it past the Palestinians to bomb a playground, if it got the attention of the military. However, that wasn't his concern.

No, his concern was always the other children. Erik was afraid some snotnosed kid would push Lorna down, or hit her, or even bite her. Or, something as simple as making fun of her for some stupid reason. He trusted Lorna completely. He trusted her to scream if she got scared or hurt, and to run from any strange people and scream his full name so he could come running and find his daughter. He'd practiced finding specific metal objects in recent years, and had carefully sewn into all of Lorna's clothes one each of a tiny thing he'd crafted when she was even smaller. A tiny star with an 'N' etched into it. It was an old thing he came up with when she was born, meant to be a strong symbol of what his daughter meant to him. His guiding northern star, always pointing him up to better places and actions and people. So he'd sewn the stars into her clothes so he'd be able to seek out the familiar shape to find her if need be.

Speaking of better people-though he liked to joke that the boy didn't count-a very familiar silver haired speedster suddenly appeared beside them, hands in his pockets as he grinned. "Hey, old man." His speech, in the past three years, had slowed down at least when he spoke to Erik. The German had grilled the boy in manners and patience, letting him run wild so long as Erik knew where he was going and what he planned to do. So long as he didn't plan to get himself killed or hurt beyond a few scrapes, Erik was fine letting his son-still strange to refer to him as such, but not unwelcome-ransack and snatch as much as he liked.

"Hello, juvenile delinquent," Erik replied, swinging Lorna into his arms. "I trust you came here to make yourself useful, rather than pester me?"

"Who, me? _Never_," Peter replied, feigning an innocent look. "Actually," he started, "Charles is a mess and needs your advice on stuff."

"Oh, for the love of-" Erik sighed. "I promised Lorna the playground. Charles needs to stop asking me all this parenting advice-it's driving me insane."

Peter laughed. "I can watch Miss Pint-Sized."

Lorna stuck her tongue out at him, and Peter copied her, crossing his eyes for good measure.

"Fine, watch her and don't let her out of your sight."

"Hey, it's me. Nothing escapes these brown beauties." Peter batted his eyelashes in an effort to exasperate Erik, and it worked when the man rolled his eyes.

"You're almost as bad as Charles. Here." Erik passed Lorna to Peter, kissing her forehead. "I won't be long, schatzi. Try not to con Peter into ice cream or anything mischievous."

"I won't," Lorna replied, not really listening since she was too busy grabbing for Peter's goggles.

Erik sighed and turned around, heading back where he'd already come from. Charles was wearing him out, no question.

* * *

"Ah, there you are, my friend. I was wondering if, perhaps, I could get your help with something."

He was doing a lot of sighing today. Erik walked forward to where Charles was sitting, his wife, Gabrielle, next to him on the couch. "What is it this time?"

"What exactly are the advantages to bottle feeding versus-"

Erik rubbed his eyes. "Charles, we've been over this. I don't know. I fed Lorna with a bottle entirely out of necessity."

"Alright, well, onto my next question. What colors do you think would work best in the nursery? I'm trying to match it somewhat with the decor in the rest of the house, and-"

"Charles," Gabrielle interrupted, saving Erik the trouble. "I absolutely _love_ how excited you are to get everything ready for the baby," Charles beamed at her, then his face quickly switched gears to a frown as his wife continued, "but you're wearing Erik and I out with your constant worrying." She patted his arm. "Just _relax_."

"But there's just so much still to _do_," Charles moaned. "And it really is imperative we decide on the baby's room a good length of time beforehand, so everything can be ready."

Gabrielle and Erik exchanged an exasperated look. "Charles, I love you, but I swear if we weren't married, I'd think you were a gay man." She made a face. "Actually, you still might be, and just happen to be good in bed with women."

Charles grinned cheekily at her. "What, I can't swing both ways?"

Gabrielle turned her gaze on Erik. "The way you two are always glued to each other, sometimes I wonder." She lightly hit Charles's arm. "I feel unloved when you go off with him."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I don't want whatever he's offering."

"_Hey_," Charles interjected, casting Erik a mock glare. "No need to be so rude just because I won't let you at this."

The kinetic snorted. "Even if you had anything good to offer, I wouldn't want it."

"Too busy with your harem of single mothers at the playground?" Gabrielle asked.

"Ha," Erik said sarcastically. "Don't make me laugh."

Charles turned to the black-haired woman next to him. "Erik has recently discovered he is firmly in the camp of…" He gestured, trying to come up with a word. "Camp of those who do not take pleasure in carnal desires."

"Thank you for airing my laundry, Charles. You're a true friend."

"You're quite welcome, my friend." Charles beamed at him again, and Erik sighed.

"I'm going back to make sure Peter hasn't gotten Lorna into a candy-grabbing scheme… again."

"Have fun with that," the couple answered, already not paying much attention to Erik as they began to giggle like little girls about whatever one of them had thought about along their mental link.

Shaking his head, Erik gladly escaped back out the door into the sunny day, and promptly realized his life really _had_ changed, if he found joy in the sun being out. He blamed Lorna for indoctrinating him into the cultist ways of enjoying sunshine and the greenery found during the summer months. Little girls were diabolical, more so than Erik had ever been. Then again, Lorna _had_ to be diabolical. She was his daughter, after all.

* * *

Turned out Lorna and Peter had become enamored with the merry-go-round. Which further cemented Erik's thoughts that his son was more of a child than his daughter.

Lorna had her whole body wrapped around the middle post on the contraption, screeching happily as Peter spun her around and around. Erik was relieved to find the boy was careful and didn't make it too fast, lest Lorna fly off or the merry-go-round spin off its anchor. Honestly, knowing Lorna and Peter, the latter was more likely. Lorna had an affinity for death grips.

Erik rubbed his ear a little at the thought, recalling how Lorna loved to ride on his shoulders but would grab onto his ears and refuse to let go until she was safely on the ground again.

Not wanting to startle the pair, he stood back and watched as the stupid metal disk spun faster and faster, until Lorna finally screamed out a "stop!" Peter grabbed one outer pole and let his heels dig into the brown gravel scattered around the playground, slowing the merry-go-round to such a jerking stop that Erik winced at the thought of getting whiplash on that torture device. Lorna climbed off, falling into the gravel and giggling as she tried to get up again, only to fall once more due to dizziness. He might've sworn the toddler was drunk if that wasn't totally illogical. He'd seen plenty of staggering drunks, one of them having been Charles, once upon a time. He occasionally missed _that_ display, but Charles was four years sober.

"You're both psychotic," Erik spoke up, scooping Lorna up.

Peter grinned. "Nah, you're thinking of someone else."

"Doubtful."

"Hey, I have a question."

Erik cast a glance to the women nearby, watching Erik and Peter with great interest. "This is about the… disturbing women watching us so closely."

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner." Peter made a face. "They're so _weird_. What do they want from us? Do they think we're pedos or something?"

He almost smacked his forehead with his hand. Almost. "No, Peter. Historically, women have been fond of men who prove to be good with children. It signifies a good mate, generally."

"Ohhhhhh." Peter snorted. "Weirdos. I'm not having a 'mate' or whatever. And definitely not kids."

"Good. Keep that mindset."

"See, now, my brain views what you just said as reverse psychology, and now I kind of want to bang that hot piece of-" He yelped when Erik smacked him on the back of his head, glaring at the man. "What the hell was that for?"

"You will show _respect_ for women. They are not objects of your desire, Peter Maximoff."

"Okay, okay, sorry."

"Would you like a man to look at Lorna that way when she's older?"

Peter toed his shoe at the gravel. "Not really, no."

"Good, then you be the difference and set an example."

Lorna tugged at Erik's earlobe, painfully since she still didn't understand the concept of pain outside relation to herself.

"Yes, schatzi?"

"Swings," Lorna urged, bringing back fond memories of when she used to leave off the 's' at the beginning of words when she was younger. It had naturally gone away, even though Charles and Hank had both tried to counsel her in the proper pronunciation for a few months. She'd gone back to saying it normally when they gave up, much to their exasperation.

"Alright, alright." Erik darted his eyes over in that direction, and Peter saluted him before zipping away to scout out a swing and save it from other children in the minute it took Erik and Lorna to arrive. Carrying the girl over to the swingset, Erik found Peter swinging happily along, oblivious to the world around him, and Erik and Lorna exchanged a glance. Something told them both that Lorna wasn't getting access to that swing. _Oh, Peter. You're a child._

Lorna was happy to take the swing next to Peter, little legs kicking for a moment before she huffed and looked at Erik expectantly. "Vati," she prompted when he didn't move, and Erik moved behind her, grabbing the swing and pulling it back a good length so Lorna would be able to swing for a while, since she couldn't keep the momentum going on her own. "Yay!" She cried, gripping the metal chains and laughing as she swung back and forth.

Erik shrugged and went to sit on a nearby bench, keeping an eye on Peter and Lorna, just in case. Picking up a newspaper left on the wooden seat, he unfolded it after gladly finding it was from that day. Every moment or so, he glanced up to check Lorna was still there, though it was unneeded since the metal star in her clothes sang at the edge of his consciousness.

Lorna's cry had him bolting upright, newspaper fluttering forgotten to the ground as he raced over to the swings. The girl was on the ground, Peter standing by her and snapping at the big guy standing by the swing, his kid now sitting where Lorna had been. From what he imagined happened, the little shit had pushed Lorna from the swing, and when Peter had told the kid to get off the swing, the kid's father came over.

When the big guy, muscled and taller than Erik, turned his head to Erik, he grinned wolfishly. "Those freaks yours, buddy?"

"Is that ugly little shit yours?" Erik replied coolly, raising an eyebrow.

Peter glowered daggers at the man as he glared down at Erik. "The fuck you say about my kid?"

"Oh, I thought we were playing a game of insults, since you so rudely referred to _them_ as freaks. My apologies for unknowingly taking advantage of your ignorance without giving you time to prepare."

"Buddy, it isn't my fault your kid got in the swing mine always plays on."

Erik rolled his eyes. "So you thought you'd let your brat treat other children poorly in order to get his way?"

"Survival of the fittest."

He snorted. "A homo habilis discovering his opposable thumbs says 'what.'"

"What?" The guy said, brows furrowing as he half glared at Erik. Peter snickering two feet away told the man he'd fallen for some sort of trick, and his glare intensified.

Lorna stuck her tongue out at the big man, squeaking in shock when the man took a swing at Erik. She needn't have worried, Erik thought, as he neatly stepped out of the way. When another fist flew at him, Erik smiled and twitched his fingers, the chains from the swing detaching-dumping the kid onto the ground in process-and wrapping around the man's wrists, pulling them out of reach of Erik.

Peter knew what to do without Erik even glancing his way, and time came to a standstill as he kicked into overdrive. It was a little harder to skedaddle out of there with Lorna as well, but he'd been practicing with Charles and Erik's help, so it wasn't much trouble. He grabbed Lorna, put her in Erik's grasp and folded the man's arms around her. Then he put a hand to Erik's neck and sped off, not stopping until they were in the front door.

By then, all that was left on the playground was a man chained to a swingset, his kid sobbing next to him, dust kicked up from the gravel by Peter's hasty retreat, and the barest echoes of a cackle from the boy.


	2. They're Brats, But They're My Brats

_I had Erik lose control a little on purpose, because I feel like though he's being a better friend/father, he is still Erik Lehnsherr, who we all love to hate for his superiority complex and tendency to overreact. Thank you to mpathy and Phoenixhp5t3 for dropping me reviews! All will be revealed in time.  
_

* * *

_So let them say we can't do better.  
Lay out the rules that we can't break.  
_– _Santigold_

"You beat up a colonel in the Israeli military, Erik," Alex growled at him, glaring at the man across the dinner table.

"And?"

"You're unbelievable! Don't you care one bit about the safety of all of us?"

"Let me explain something to you, Alexander. That man obviously did not learn the appropriate amount of discipline while serving his country, which was why he allowed his son to push a three year old out of a swing so he could take it himself. Why is that more acceptable than me teaching him not to do it again?"

Charles sighed. "Erik, that isn't what this is about. You've potentially compromised our anonymity because you lack self-control." He held up a hand. "I perfectly understand protecting your daughter. But there are better ways to go about it than what you chose."

"I have no regrets, because I highly doubt there is anything to worry about."

Logan rolled his eyes. "You're an asshole."

"I'm beginning to consider that a term of endearment."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up and eat, bub."

Peter had remained silent the entire conversation, not meeting anyone's eyes as he picked at his food.

"Peter, I know you were with Erik. There's no use trying to hide it from me."

The boy ducked his head. "Yeah, well… I agree with him," he blurted out.

"I'm sure you do. I won't tell you your opinion is wrong. I would prefer you both be careful, alright?"

Erik grunted noncommittally, Peter nodding to appease Charles.

"Alright, well… Morty, Spyke, Hank, what were you up to all day?"

"Spyke and I went to see this new movie. What was it… like, uh…"

"Space Wars?" Spyke suggested. "No, no, wait. It was _Star_ Wars. Yeah, that's it."

"What is it about?"

"Uh… some kid named Luke Skywalker gets this glowing sword, goes off to save the Princess Leah, and teams up with a guy named Hans Olo and his pet… dog or something, Chewie. Oh," Morty snapped his fingers, "And there's a couple robots. One's British and gold and annoying. The other one looks like a rolling trashcan."

Everyone around the table gave Morty and Spyke strange looks, before Erik finally spoke. "That sounds like yet another terrible attempt at science fiction."

"Meh. It was alright."

"Yeah, I mean, it was fun, but it's not the best movie ever or anything."

"Hank?" Charles prompted.

The scientist shrugged. "Marion and I were playing phone chess."

Alex snickered and jabbed Hank with his elbow. "You mean phone _sex_."

Hank glared at the blond. "You wish, pervert."

"Scott, Alex, Logan, how was your day?"

"Uh… I replaced the charcoal in the flower beds with black mulch," Alex said, shaking his cup a little to get the last of the soda and to jostle the ice cubes.

Logan broke in before Scott could, frowning deeply. "The kid pestered me all damn day, wanting me to take him places and show him my claws even though he's seen 'em a thousand times."

"They're cool," Scott replied defensively.

"Well, I'm happy to hear the rest of you had a much quieter day than our resident…" Charles blinked, before sighing. "Our resident serial killer." Erik merely chuckled in response.

None of them needed to ask how Charles's day had been, since they'd all been in and out of the house that day, bearing witness to Charles fretting over Gabrielle, the nursery, and the baby itself, which would arrive soon enough. It was driving them all nuts to hear him worrying constantly, but they rarely complained straight to him, because it was better than the alternative.

The alternative being him wallowing in depression, unwilling to get out of bed and constantly plagued by nightmares. Uncaring about teaching anyone or being the leader he'd sworn he'd be. Charles worrying about his future offspring was certainly better.

* * *

Charles buttoned up his blue pajama shirt, yawning tiredly as he fastened the last button and looked down at his bare legs. Rubbing his thigh absently, he couldn't help wondering what it would have been like to walk when he'd have his son.

He certainly hadn't missed the way, over the years, Erik was able to interact with Lorna. He went to her when she cried in the middle of the night, chased after her around the house and across the grass in a park. Erik was able to carry his daughter on his shoulders so she could see above a crowd. He could simply walk up the stairs with her. Someday, he'd walk Lorna down the aisle and dance with her at the wedding.

Meanwhile, Charles would always be bound to this stupid chair, wishing he could run after his child and being unable to quickly get to the baby if it needed him in the night. He wouldn't walk his child down the aisle or dance with them. He'd be stuck at the bottom of a staircase and be forced to plaster a smile on his face, being sure no negative emotions leaked out of his mental shields, and wave his child onward.

"Charles, stop that," Gabrielle's soft voice came from behind him, a hand gently stroking the nape of his neck.

"Sorry," he murmured, turning his head around to look at her.

She bent down the best she could, though Charles still had to stretch upward to reach her as their lips met in a soft kiss. Gabrielle threaded her fingers through his, rubbing along the ring on his left hand in a reminder she loved him and married him even though he wasn't able to walk. It was a cooling balm on his heart as he relaxed, fears slowly melting away.

"It's the baby, isn't it?"

The telepath nodded, and Gabrielle sighed as she pushed his hair from his forehead. "You'll be an amazing father, I have no doubt." Though she shouldn't be, she helped him perch on the edge of the bed, sitting beside him. "He'll look up to you."

"He?" Charles furrowed his brow a little. "You were able to find out?"

"No, but I was hoping for a boy."

"You just want miniature me," Charles teased.

"I can't help it. Your charm is addictive… even if you leave our room and your office an absolute mess."

"Oh, come now, it's not that bad."

Gabrielle gestured around, and Charles sheepishly noticed the clothes, notebooks, tomes, pencils, pens, and even a couple ties strewn around. "You were saying? And your office looks as though a windstorm blew through and scattered paper everywhere."

Charles busied himself putting his pants on, avoiding Gabrielle's eyes. "Well, um… men are naturally good at making messes."

He could see it in his mind's eye, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling as she snorted. "Right. And women are naturally good at smacking the men around for doing as such?"

Flashing her a grin, he was surprised by the pillow hitting him in the face. It nearly unbalanced him, but he caught himself on the bed frame in time. "Gaby," he falsely whined, "that wasn't very nice."

"Sorry, I can't hear you when you whine."

Charles laughed. "You'll make an excellent mother. The child won't know _how_ to whine."

"You'd better believe it." Gabrielle folded the covers back after retrieving the pillow, settling into bed and picking up her book. "Get to bed, Professor. You have things to do and places to be tomorrow."

"Yes, love, of course." Charles tucked himself into bed close to his wife, sliding one hand under the pillow to be sure Raven was still there. She was, so he slid his hand back tucked against his chest, sighing contentedly when Gabrielle carded her fingers lightly through his hair. It hadn't taken much to get him to sleep in years, so he easily drifted off now, peaceful knowing everyone in the house and Westchester were safe and comfortable.

* * *

He rose early the next morning so he'd be ready to go when Gabrielle was, though he allowed himself a few extra minutes in the soothing, scalding shower. He let the water pelt hot droplets against his back, steam gathering so thickly in the air that it made it hard to breathe. But the welcome relief for the pain in his spine was completely worth making the air stifling.

Until his throat began to tighten and his eyes stung, he hadn't realized he was in tears. Sighing, tired at himself, Charles wiped at his face and closed his eyes, trying to think peaceful thoughts. Gentle waves crashing on the nearby beach. The nice rhythm the rain always seemed to have when it poured in Haifa. It was funny, the rain always came unexpectedly, and the news reported that evening how the rain had come from Egypt, which made it more curious that the clouds had really lasted that long. It wasn't unwelcome, though, and had kept the summer months cool this year.

What else was peaceful? The baby. He could always sense the baby's mind, and he reached out tendrils now, picturing his fingers stroking along a baby's cheek to reassure his child that everything was alright. He let himself bask in the still largely unformed mind, enjoying the feel of it. The child was comfortable, if not starting to wake from its dreamless sleep, and constantly soothed by Gabrielle's heartbeat thumping quietly around it at all hours.

_The child is magnificent. You really should've bred earlier, Charles. We could've had this kind of peacefulness so much longer. _Francis's voice was lilting, cheered by most everything from the past years.

_Even I must admit, _Onslaught's voice piped up, _the baby is rather refreshing and soothing. But it had better not cry and wake you up. It disturbs my slumber._

_You'll get over it, _Francis replied.

_Shut up, superego._

_You shut up, id._

_Both of you quiet down. I need to be concentrating today._

_Oh, right, the infamous checkup you've been dreading. _Onslaught's voice dripped with boredom, clearly uncaring that Charles's nerves were wracked constantly when he accidentally reminded himself of the doctor's appointment.

_Onslaught, I have a right to be concerned about my child,_ Charles snapped, slowly straightening out his back.

_The kid's fine. We just checked it not two seconds ago._

_Charles, as much as I hate to say it, I think Onslaught's right on this._

_Regardless what your opinions are, I'm still worried. I can't help but think _something _is going to go wrong. Gabrielle is hardly younger than Erik, and… well… I'm a useless lump from the waist down._

_But evolution works in favor of the fittest. Combining what Gabrielle has survived, _Onslaught started, giving Charles brief flashes combining what he'd not only seen in Erik's mind, but his wife's as well, _and the fact you're homo superior, I'm confident your rugrat is completely fine._

_Gee, Onslaught, _Charles's voice echoed sarcastically in his head, _that really helped alleviate all my fears. You're a true pal._

Onslaught shrugged. _Okay, I'm out. Francis, you're up to bat._

_No one is "up to bat." _Charles answered as he heard the bathroom door open. _Conversation is over._

_Not forever, _Francis replied in a sing-song voice, leaving Charles irritated as Gabrielle pulled open the shower door.

"Charles, get out of the shower."

"Alright, I'm going, I'm going." He moved himself onto the towel lying in his chair, grabbing the other towel and beginning to dry himself off as Gabrielle ensconced herself in the clouds of steam. He thanked Hank's engineering expertise when he was able to turn the joystick and have the chair move back out into the bedroom with no problems, grabbing various articles of clothing for the day from the dresser and closet. The typical seventies fashion was still what Charles now referred to as horrific, so he'd searched high and low for clothes that brought back memories of his youth at Oxford. Erik had the same issue, and they both bemoaned the loss of the early sixties. Charles still had his beard, because he'd stubbornly clung to it when all he could think of was how he might eventually go bald if he wasn't careful. That image of older him would never leave his brain, not even if he bleached the insides of his skull.

Usually he only wore a pullover when he was home all day or if it was cold, so he wore a simple button-up shirt with a tie and sweater vest. It made him look like he actually deserved that old stuffy title of "professor," and he made sure to get Scott's approval each day, since the boy had deemed himself judge of how Charles dressed to look like Professor X. He went downstairs to the kitchen, finding Hank glued to the small television box on the counter while he absently fumbled to eat his cereal. Poor boy had never been a master of multitasking, though it was not without trying.

Erik was likely still upstairs trying to rouse Lorna, who slept like a rock and was an angry bear when awoken by something other than her circadian rhythm. Erik had joked he should start poking her with a fifteen foot pole so he wouldn't have to risk being mauled by a three year old. Peter and Scott were mumbling incoherently to each other, Peter's eyes lidded by grogginess as he slowly sipping a glass of orange juice. Scott munched on a poptart, the stupid squares being his favorite food in the entire universe, but he brightened when Charles entered.

"Hey, Professor."

"Hello, Scott. Does my attire earn your stamp of approval?"

Scott grinned and picked up a small stamp off the table, which he always carried in the morning so he could stamp Charles's hand. The telepath humored the boy, always relieved Scott was sociable with the occupants of the house, since he'd been so shy when he first arrived. Grabbing his hand, Scott pressed the stamp down with a click, and when he pulled it away a red smiley face was present on the back of Charles's hand.

"Thank you very much," the man told Scott, going to the fridge and pulling out the milk. "Could you fetch me a glass?"

"Sure." He handed Charles a juice glass, going back to his spot at the table. "Hey!" He cried, glaring at Peter over the missing half of a poptart, though Peter just pointed at the toaster, which had a warm chocolate smell emanating from it. Scott grumbled and grabbed the fresh poptart when it sprang from the toaster, watching Peter closely as he ate half. When the teen gave Scott puppy eyes, visually begging for the other half, Scott rolled his eyes and grudgingly handed it to him.

"Thanks, boy scout."

"Why am I a boy scout?"

"'Cause you're always following rules and being nice to people."

"Ugh." Scott let his head fall in his hands, shaking his head. He pushed his glasses up a little on his nose when he'd noticed they slid down a little, and looked up at Hank. "Hey, Hank?"

"Uh huh," Hank replied absently, not paying attention.

"Can you make me a gun that shoots lasers?"

"Like a phaser?" Hank asked, still barely keeping his ears on the conversation.

"Yeah."

"Sure," he mumbled, chewing his cheerios as he continued watching whatever it was on the television. Charles glanced over and saw it was another episode of _Leave It to Beaver_, which explained why Hank wasn't moving his attention from it in the slightest. He'd essentially grown up with the show, and nostalgia took hold whenever it came on.

Luckily, they could afford television sets around the house, so rarely did fights break out over who got to watch what. Though Alex enjoyed picking fights with Hank just because it was a fond habit they'd gotten into over the years. Even though it often ended with Hank transforming into Beast, sheathing his claws, and smacking Alex to the floor with one paw.

Charles cast a look at the clock, hoping for Hank's sake the episode would end soon, before Lorna came downstairs and inevitably insisted the channel be changed to _Mister Rogers' Neighborhood_, or _Sesame Street_. Whichever struck her fancy that day.

"Well, I believe," Charles started, checking his watch as he sensed Gabrielle coming downstairs, "I'm leaving now." Taking a last swig of his milk after finishing off his own poptart-he admittedly had a weakness for the bloody stupid things-Charles put his glass in the sink and headed out of the kitchen. "Have a good day, and behave."

"We will," came the automatic chorus, though Charles knew better than to believe it. They were brats, all of them. But they were his brats, so he loved them anyway.


	3. Baby Blues

_So you know how in "Mean Girls" they call Damien "too gay to function" in the Burn Book, and Janice gets pissed because "that's only okay when I say it"? That's how it is with Charles. Nobody had better insult his X-Men by calling them brats, but it's okay if he says it. And yes, I realize international calling is only really a thing of the last two decades, but phone chess is faster than mail chess._

* * *

_Take a look, hesitate.  
Take a picture you could never recreate.  
_– _Atlas Genius_

"Charles, you need to breathe."

Trying to appease Gabrielle, Charles exhaled slowly, hands still gripping the arms of his chair as he attempted to loosen his rather tenses muscles. It wasn't successful, and he sighed. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little nervous."

"More than a little." Gabrielle took his hand in hers, rubbing her thumb along the back of his hand. "Relax. Everything is going to be fine. And if it isn't for some reason, then we'll cope."

The telepath shut his eyes, rubbing a temple with his free hand. "You and Erik must think me so foolish, worrying about the most inconsequential things."

Gabrielle, quite frankly, wanted to smack him, from what he gathered in her mind. "What have we discussed about that? What has Erik taken you aside to very bluntly tell you?"

Charles coughed. "Um… That my problems are still valid so long as I don't start worrying about whether my seventh blue shirt is clean?"

"Very good," Gabrielle replied, patting his cheek. "Your problems _are_ valid, regardless of what I or Erik or anyone else has gone through."

"I… try to remember that."

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I feel the same, in regards to Erik?"

He began to protest. "You still suffered-"

She held up a finger to silence him. "I know. I have to remind myself my problems are not invalidated merely because I view Erik's as being worse. You need to remind yourself that as well."

"I will… do my best," he said quietly, the words familiar as a promise he'd made to Logan years ago, when they flew to Washington.

"That's perfect," his wife replied, squeezing his hand.

Charles tried to pick up his book again, though his mind still buzzed with all sorts of scenarios and hypotheticals, quite familiar to how Lorna's did. The only difference was that she didn't worry so deeply about them as he did. _What if the baby is sick? With something like… mental retardation? What if the baby has something physically wrong? I couldn't live with myself if the baby were to be bound in a chair for the rest of its life. It would be my fault. I know my paralysis isn't genetic, but it could still be passed along somehow… because that's my luck._

_Charles, for the love of God, calm your ass._

_I have to concur with Onslaught, though in more polite terms. You're driving us both mad._

_I'm _worried_. How many times do I need to explain the concept?_

They didn't answer, as Charles's attention was suddenly taken by the nurse calling Gabrielle into the office. He sighed and settled back in his chair, hating he couldn't follow her back as any normal husband could have.

"I won't be long," Gabrielle told him, squeezing his hand comfortingly before she went down the halls.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to focus on the book again despite the words blurring and his attention haywire. _What if it's ectopic?_

_Are you fucking serious, Charles?_ Onslaught snapped, clearly at the end of his rope. _If it was ectopic, this whole thing would've ended several months ago. As it is now, she's seven months in and fine._

_Well… what if the baby is born with something wrong?_

_Then you'll deal with it like you always have. Stop being a pansy, Jesus._

_Onslaught, I'm trying to brace myself for the worst._

_If the kid turns out stupid or a cripple like you, then you'll suck it up and deal with it._

_You're kind of a-_ Charles began, but surprisingly, Francis finished it for him.

_-a motherfucker._

_You both need to grow up._ Onslaught rolled his eyes and disappeared.

_So… _Francis shrugged. _What do you want to talk about?_

_I don't know if I can be an adequate father._

_Oh, come on, you'll be fine. You need to stop worrying so much. It's not good for you._

_I thought I was supposed to be worried for my child's health._

_You are. But you also need to calm yourself. Oh, and Gabrielle is trying to summon the great Wizard of… Iz._

_Iz?_

_Israel. But it had less of a ring to it than a pun on "Oz."_

_Oh._ Charles cast out a mental net, trying to find his wife among the myriad of patients. It wasn't hard, because there was only one love of his life who happened to be in the hospital at that moment, so he dove into her mind like a swimming pool.

_It's about time, _Gabrielle reprimanded.

_Sorry, love, I was… busy chatting up myself._

_You're a disaster. How are things looking?_

_One moment. _Climbing out of the mental pool, he skipped off to the mind of the doctor examining his wife, and jumped into his mind. He almost regretted it, because the medical jargon was beating him over the head, but his background of studying Latin paid off when he was able to form a sword and shield to make his way through it all. Slicing prefixes and suffixes as he went, Charles managed to get to what actually mattered, which was Gabrielle and the baby's health.

Gabrielle was fine, if not still a little high on iron, but Erik had been telling her that the entire pregnancy. He insisted she wasn't in any sort of danger, just that he could almost smell the extra iron in her blood. They trusted Erik's judgement, having learned he didn't wish to intentionally sabotage his friends. Even if one of those was a human.

The baby… the baby was alright. Charles relaxed a fraction, sighing a little. As far as the doctor could tell, even with the sonogram, the baby was fine. Just a little sluggish in movement, but that had been going on since the baby could move at all. The doctor had always told them there was nothing really wrong, just that the child was very content and didn't feel an urge to move much. Charles still worried himself sick over it, but he tried to conceal most of it from Gabrielle because it was better if she didn't know how very much he worried about everything.

Charles made sure to camp out in the doctor's mind until Gabrielle was told she could leave, then drew away to his own mind to wait for the woman to come back his direction. His broad smile up at her confirmed that everything was definitely alright, and Gabrielle teased him as they went back to the car.

"See? You worried for nothing."

"Indeed I did," he lied, hating himself for not telling her the truth. But he had to protect her from his most inner demons. It was imperative she not know his darkest fears, because he couldn't bear the thought of spoiling her loveliness. Despite everything she had faced, she still maintained a slight air of innocence. Charles couldn't stand to think of ruining that.

* * *

"I feel like I'm going to lose my mind."

"_Charles_," Erik bit out, exasperated as he carefully ran the brush along the intersection between the ceiling and wall.

"Lorna's nursery wasn't this hard to set up," Charles insisted again.

"Because I wasn't constantly changing my mind and worrying about every miniscule detail," Erik replied without missing a beat, dipping his brush in the paint again. "And if you change your mind now we've started painting, I'm hitting you in the head with a paint bucket."

Charles sighed. "You could be a little sympathetic."

"I was when we first began planning this room about five months ago. That time is long past, and now I merely want the nursery to be finished so you'll stop fretting."

Huffing, the telepath dipped his roller brush in paint again, relieved he had enough arm strength to keep rolling paint onto the walls without much of a break. "I'm not allowed to worry about my child at all?"

Erik's face softened. "You are, but you worry far too much. Relax, Charles. If something happens to be wrong, you'll be fine."

"I'm afraid I won't be."

"If you can save the world several times and raise uncontrollable teenagers, I think you can handle anything else."

Charles chuckled, smiling tiredly. "I suppose I can."

Erik climbed down from the ladder, walking over both to get a new paint bucket and clap a hand comfortingly on Charles's shoulder, silently telling him he'd be fine. "Think of it in these terms, old friend: If someone as damaged as me can raise a child, then surely you'll cope."

"Erik, you don't give yourself enough credit… as far as Lorna goes."

The kinetic laughed quietly. "Perhaps not in that department. Do I give myself too much credit where I shouldn't?"

"Just a bit," Charles answered, smiling.

"I suspected as much. It's your fault for inflating my ego."

"Oh, really?" Charles raised an eyebrow, enjoying their banter. "How is it my fault?"

"If you hadn't gotten me to move the satellite, I never would have run off because my ego told me I was too good for a telepath who lives for cardigans."

"Oh, shut up," Charles laughed. "Contrary to apparently popular belief, pullovers aren't evil."

"They are. They try to kill me in the night."

"I'm sure," he replied dryly, rolling paint along the walls, yelping when the paint roller splotched light green all along the trim and ceiling. "Shit."

Erik laughed, Charles glaring at him. "I won't tell unless you do."

"You'd better not," he hissed, wincing as he looked upward again. "I hope Gabrielle doesn't notice."

"The enormous spot of paint where it isn't supposed to be? No, she totally won't notice."

Charles groaned and put his head in his hands. "Perhaps I should make a hasty escape."

"The USSR is your best bet. She won't find you there."

He laughed. "Shall I pack, or just run?"

"I would go now before she walks in- Oh, I'm afraid you're too late."

"Too late for what?" Gabrielle inquired, raising an eyebrow at the two men.

"Nothing important," Charles responded, to which Gabrielle shrugged.

"With you two, I hardly want to know. Do we have any pasta in the house?"

"The tapeworms ate it all," Erik answered, referring to Spyke, Morty, Alex, Peter, Scott, and Logan. Hank and Lorna couldn't be blamed since they'd never been keen on pasta, and Charles and Erik knew how to pace themselves.

Gabrielle muttered something under her breath. "Thank you for helping with this, Erik."

"Certainly better than having to 'bond' with Peter."

Gabrielle and Charles exchanged an amused glance. "What, you don't like doing that?"

Erik gave a swift shake of his head. "No. Though his aim is improving."

"Archery or firearms?"

"He breaks the arrows and de-strings the bow. I refuse to try archery with him again."

Gabrielle laughed. "He's your son, Erik. Shouldn't you be patient?"

"He's twenty. I am no longer obligated to treat him with patience."

"You could at least pay for college."

"He dropped out of high school his first year there. I'm not wasting money to forge a diploma so I can then piss away more money on college classes he'll flunk."

It was Charles's turn to laugh. "You have such a hard time being a parent."

"Had I known it would be this much trouble, I never would have gone to bed."

"Oh, you love Peter and Lorna, don't lie."

"I love them. I don't _like_ them."

Erik couldn't help smiling, even as he rolled his eyes when Gabrielle and Charles continued laughing. Were Charles somehow right about his "bad feeling," then those two would easily band together and be extraordinary parents.

Even if Charles fretted about paint colors and Gabrielle wanted to feed the child only organic food. They'd be extraordinary, but just this side of nutty.


	4. Rude Swiss and THE Pain in the Ass

_As a warning, I'm sure the French is butchered, because A) I don't speak it and B) Google isn't even slightly good at translating whole phrases. Anyway, I couldn't resist giving implied angst to Erik and obvious angst to Charles. Think about it: Erik has not once driven a car in any movie. I refuse to let Charles simply get over his paralysis completely just because he has friends to support him. Love doesn't magically cure people of their issues. Oh, and if you guys didn't quite get that the rain in Israel lately was meant to be very unusual, then I offer you this clue: "Do you know what happens to a toad when it's struck by lightning?"_

_Thank you to mpathy, feathered moon wings, and Phoenixhp5t3 for leaving reviews!_

* * *

_Holding my last breath  
Safe inside myself  
_– _Evanescence_

"I'm just not sure if I should leave-"

"Charles," Gabrielle said patiently, "You need to get away for a couple of days. The baby isn't due for two more months-"

"Yes, but you're also older, which increases the risk of premature labor-"

Erik sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Charles," his wife started again, "If I go into labor, then I'll have the baby and you can see us when you return."

"But-"

"I think I can handle giving birth by myself, considering you wouldn't be doing anything but fretting needlessly anyway."

"Well…"

Gabrielle kissed his forehead. "Go to Switzerland. Bicker with Erik over a chessboard and enjoy the view of the Alps. We'll be fine here, since between Hank and I, we can keep the house running without any major mishaps."

"Lorna is mischievous," Erik added as a warning, earning a wink from Gabrielle.

"Hopefully, I won't need to crack the whip on the older miscreants." Gabrielle stepped back, waving to them. "Now, have fun and don't kill anyone."

"No promises," Erik replied.

"I'll do my best," Charles called as Gabrielle began to leave, sighing wistfully. "I don't want to leave her."

"You're coming with me whether you like it or not." Erik spun Charles's chair around, pushing it forward as the younger man rolled his eyes.

"You're so rude."

"It's in my nature."

"So your manners are completely false?"

"Indeed. I only use manners for Lorna to pick up."

"Crafty."

* * *

"I must confide something."

"Hm?" Charles took a drink, glancing up from the board between them at Erik.

"I admit I might need to learn how to drive a car before I'm fifty."

"Oh." That was unexpected. Now he thought about it, over his memories from the last almost twenty years he'd known Erik, he'd never once seen the man drive. At least Erik hadn't told him he'd killed the President of Palestine-which he'd been excessively worried about since last year, during the Entebbe crisis. Erik was unwaveringly loyal to both mutantkind and Hebrews, which in modern day meant Israelites. Despite Charles's attempts to soothe Erik's rising anger, he hadn't been able to convince his friend that Palestine didn't need an "ass-kicking" every once in a while.

Erik made a trip every couple of months to Palestine, much to Charles's chagrin, though no one ever turned up dead even after Erik came back, so either his friend really was trying to please him and follow his philosophies, or…

Or Erik was just _really_ good at making people go missing without anyone noticing. Which, as much as he hated to admit, seemed the more likely scenario. Charles had decided to feign ignorance, for which he knew Erik was grateful. So long as his friend didn't go ballistic as he almost had over Entebbe, Charles would let him run around a little. He was still careful about Erik's influence over Peter. Just in case.

But he digressed. Driving seemed like a skill Erik would obviously have, since the German had just about every other skill under the sun saved in his usually deadly repertoire.

"Would you be willing to instruct me?" Erik questioned, moving a bishop to capture Charles's knight.

"I… I don't know," Charles replied quietly, letting himself listen to the background hum of the plane's engine. "I can't walk."

Erik gave him a strange look. "Why does that matter?"

"I can't teach you how to drive if I can't even drive myself."

The older man rolled his eyes rather high and waved him off. "You're being asinine again. You know how to drive, yes?"

"... Yes."

"So why are you suddenly incapable of telling me how?"

He put his chin in his hand, thinking for a very long few moments before finally sighing. "You're right."

"Of course I am."

"Egomaniac."

Erik chuckled and captured Charles's second knight.

* * *

"It's been a life's dream to drive the Autobahn."

Charles snorted. "That's the stupidest thing I've heard all day."

Erik chuckled, looking out the window as they passed yet another mountain, the train they were in tirelessly chugging through the Swiss Alps. "And here I thought _I _was the condescending one."

"You wish." Capturing Erik's queen, he smiled mischievously. "I'm the real asshole here. You wish you had this much skill."

Rolling his eyes and chuckling again, Erik flicked his king over as his eyes subtly darted to his right at the seat across the aisle from them. Charles pretended to knock his book off the table, and when he bent to pick it up, he was able to get a closer look at-

_Oh for God's sake._

"Peter Maximoff," Charles hissed, glowering at the boy, who lowered his sunglasses casually and let his eyes fall on Charles. Brown met blue, and the telepath snapped his fingers, pointing to where he and Erik were sitting as a demand the boy get over there that instant or he'd be in enormous trouble.

Sighing, as though he'd been inconvenienced, Peter took his time picking up his bag and magazine, before suddenly appearing against the window on Charles's other side. Which was only possible for Peter and a teleporter to do without making a mess.

Erik nearly groaned when he recognized the magazine as a Playboy, and snatched it away from his son's grasp. He rolled it up and smacked Peter on the head with it. "This is not for you. This is not for anyone. Stop looking at these things. They perpetuate the idea that is is acceptable to objectify women."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Jeez, old man, you're such a curmudgeon."

_Erik, let me._

_Be my guest._

Charles turned his worst glare on Peter, causing the boy to shrink back a little, despite his best efforts. "Why did you follow us?"

"Uh… because it's boring there when you guys aren't around to bitch and moan to each other about everything?"

The two men exchanged a look, knowing that was Peter-code for "I missed you guys and wanted to come with."

"You can't follow everyone when they leave somewhere. That's considering stalking."

Peter shrugged. "Only if I get caught."

"You have a point-"

"_No_," Charles broke in immediately, "He doesn't have any point. It's stalking, regardless of whether someone knows you're there."

"You're worse than he is," Peter complained, jabbing his thumb at Erik. "Your kid's never gonna have fun."

"Peter," Erik said, tone a warning to drop the subject, knowing fatherhood was a touchy matter for Charles. "Enough."

"Okay, okay. So, when we get there, you guys wanna go see _Star Wars_?"

"Why would we want to see that garbage?"

"'Cause everyone else is seeing it."

Charles let his forehead fall into his hand as he shook his head. Erik replied for him. "If everyone jumped off a skyscraper, would you do it as well?"

"I dunno, maybe if I got paid to do it."

Erik groaned quietly in response.

* * *

Peter conned them into seeing the stupid wars in the stars, but they told him it would be seen only after they made their respective visits to the bank. Erik settled his withdrawal-and, disturbingly, his deposit-within a few minutes, since the bankers were familiar with him and knew far better than to keep him waiting. His tongue was sharp, his wits quick, and they also knew he could do terrible things to them if they made an error.

Charles's French still came as easily as it had in high school when he'd been vigorously beaten over the head with the language, so communication was of little concern for him. He admittedly wasn't entirely up to date on the finances in Switzerland, though he had been trained to keep track of all accounts and stocks his inheritance was invested in. Asking for a quick summary of the last few dealings, as well as a balance on the account, he looked over the paper and nodded in approval.

He absently noted the banker being replaced with a new one, though occupied as he was trying to puzzle out the finances in his head, he didn't notice the man's thoughts upon seeing Charles for the first time since… just before college. Years ago, when he was sixteen. Having a high school diploma, he was allowed to now create a will to organize his assets and decided where they went in the event he died prematurely. He'd hired a lawyer and given everything to Raven, covering all possible loopholes to ensure his mother never got a cent, nor rights to stay within a fifty mile radius of his baby sister.

He'd had to personally visit the banks where the money was spread out, meeting with bankers and investors galore until he'd had a headache, and wanted to gag at the falseness of it all. Charles sometimes mused that he'd never been intended to be rich and raised in the high class, more suited for middle or even low class.

"Monsieur Xavier?" The banker asked, causing Charles's brow to furrow as he caught a train of thought involving confusion on the man's part.

"Oui?"

Peter, who had been quietly waiting in the background, noticed immediately the banker had said something grossly offensive, if his eyes resting on Charles's chair were anything to go by, along with Erik's face twisted by disgust. Peter saw red, glowering at the banker and clenching his fists as he restrained himself from beating the ugly asshole to the ground. By contrast, Erik's gaze turned to crystalline, jagged ice as he cast it upon the man, hardly keeping the rest of his composure intact.

Charles, quite frankly, visibly balked and could hardly believe someone had really asked him that. Had it really happened? Was he just having a ridiculous dream? He discreetly jabbed a finger into his thigh, confirming that, no, he wasn't dreaming. If he was dreaming, he would've felt himself getting a bruise on his leg. "Excusez-moi?" He replied, voice disbelieving, though now he began to feel quite a lot of offense, and it was evident in his tone.

The banker busied his hands adjusting his cuffs, seeming to have realized what an utterly grave mistake he'd made, asking after Charles's wheelchair and trying to confirm whether he was really Charles Xavier, or merely a crippled imposter.

"C'est simplement… précaution, Monsieur Xavier."

"Je ne vois pas comment il est une précaution," Charles replied coolly, wishing he didn't have to dignify that… incredibly ludicrous inquiry with any sort of response. "Pour appeler insensible attention d'un handicap est une terrible erreur."

The banker tugged at his shirt collar. "S'il vous plaît, Monsieur Xavier, de ne prendre aucune offense-"

Charles growled softly. _How can I not take offense when you have so rudely asked me whether I am really myself, based on my being in this chair? You, sir, are a bastard._ "J'ai déjà pris offense," he replied bluntly. "Dois-je prendre mon investissement ailleurs?" _You heard me correctly. Either you treat me with the respect I deserve as a human being, or I take my inheritance and go somewhere else._

He was saved having to say anything else to the moron, as the initial man who had begun the meeting walked in and asked the status of the dealings. Charles gladly informed him of his employee's insensitivity, which caused the man's face to first go white, then red as he angrily, quietly snapped at the younger man to leave the room, and that they would discuss the matter at a later time. "Je vous dois mes plus sincères excuses, Monsieur Xavier. Mon employé sera sévèrement puni." The implication that he would fire the employee hung there, and Erik glanced at the telepath, who remained stoic and silent as he allowed the head banker to apologize on his employee's behalf.

But could he really have the man fired over this? Yes, Charles was rather angry about having his identity questioned over something as ludicrous as being unable to walk. Yes, he would've liked to throttle the man, maybe bash his head on the desk a few times. Yes, he would have loved to chew him up and spit him out, all while glaring at him with the fires in the depths of Hell, melting the man into a worthless puddle.

Yet… he didn't want the man to lose his employment. As disgusted as he felt, and as much as his heart ached as his anxieties about his impending fatherhood were reignited at the offense committed against him… he didn't desire seeing a man losing his source of income out of ignorance that could be most certainly corrected. Not everyone could afford things on a whim as Charles could. This man might not be able to afford being fired from his job, at least not long-term.

The thought of getting revenge made him sick anyway, as it always had throughout his adult life. After Charles had worked so tirelessly to improve himself, to make himself into the bigger person, how could he throw that away over something so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things? How would agreeing to have the man fired make him any better than that man, who had insulted him? It would make him worse, honestly, if Charles considered it in terms of Hammurabi's Code.

Charles shook his head. "L'éduquer. Éduquer tous vos employés."

The banker nodded, seeming to understand, and Charles reached out to the man's mind. It offered little resistance, as most people, and delved within his brain. Swiftly jotting down on a piece of scrap paper, his astral form folded it up neatly and pinned it to the bulletin board in the man's mind. A suggestion, a reminder. _Please educate your employees on how to properly act around the disabled. Eliminate their ignorance._

The meeting wrapped up quickly after that, Charles making a sizable withdrawal and watching as the folds of cash were tucked into the four briefcases he'd brought. One for the school and his family. One for Gabrielle and the baby. One for Cecilia and Ink. And one for emergencies, like sudden bills because someone destroyed something or because someone needed a visit to the hospital.

Shaking hands with the head banker, they bid goodbyes, the man apologizing once again before Charles and his two companions left the building. "Well… that certainly could have gone less painfully."

"Indeed it could have," Erik replied, voice biting as he carried two briefcases, one Charles's, one his own. Peter carried two, happily swinging them along, and Charles had the fifth in his lap.

They stopped back at their hotel, Erik taking his safe out of the closet and combining it with the rest of the metal to be found in the room to expand its size, in order to fit all five briefcases crammed with money. He slid the safe across the floor, holding his hand outstretched and concentrating on it forming tendrils from the bottom, stabbing holes in the floor and weaving through the concrete and crawl space between the floor and the ceiling below them. The safe had no openings for anyone except Erik or someone with a good amount of explosives, so it was thief-proof, along with the embedding it into the structure of the hotel.

"I must say, my friend, I admire your thoughtful planning, and your skill."

"I know the mind of a thief," Erik replied, stepping back and donning his coat and hat again. "It proves effortless to outsmart other thieves when I'm one as well." He cast a look at Peter, who grinned easily and stuffed his hands in the pocket of his peacoat.

"We going or what? You said we'd see _Star Wars_."

"We did promise you, didn't we? Let's go, my kleptomaniac pupil."

* * *

Charles blinked at the daylight, the sun lower in the sky but not quite setting yet. He checked his watch and moaned, rubbing his eyes. Erik was rubbing his temples, clearly aggravated.

"That's two hours of my life I'll never regain."

Peter laughed aloud at his two mentors, grinning goofily. "It was terri-bad, I know. But now you've seen it. So if anyone ever talks about it, you'll know what it's about."

"We couldn't have simply gotten a synopsis from Spyke and Morty?" Charles groaned, shaking his head before he looked up, brow furrowed. "Wait, 'terri-bad?'"

"Combination of 'terrible' and 'bad.'"

"I reject that," Erik responded, Charles nodding in agreement.

Peter shrugged. "Not my fault you guys are old farts and don't like embracing vocabulary of the new generations."

"No," Erik objected. "It's not my fault the English language will always be a clusterfuck abomination."

The speedster bent over, holding his stomach as he laughed himself silly, Erik shaking his head in exasperation as Charles looked on in amusement.


	5. INTERPOL Has Come A-Knockin'

_I couldn't resist getting Charles and Erik's opinions on Star Wars. I actually like it, but knowing those two, I can't imagine they would agree. Also, as far as Erik yelling at Peter over objectifying women, I have reasoning for it. Erik loved his mother, and logically, she would have raised him to have respect for women and treat them as equals. He wouldn't want his son treating women as objects, as a result. Now, again, the French, Russian, and German are butchered since I speak only a little of the latter. Just... roll with it. Also, I honestly hate 70s music, but I couldn't resist throwing "Desperado" in there. It's one of those songs to sing along to when you're drunk, like Bohemian Rhapsody or Don't Stop Believin'. Oh, and a quote from "The Princess Bride," for NotMarge.  
_

* * *

_Trouble been doggin' my soul since the day I was born…  
Worry just will not seem to leave my mind alone.  
Well I've been saved by a woman…  
She won't let me go, she won't let me go now.  
_– _Ray LaMontagne_

"What are you listening to at top volume now?" Erik groused, the song loud enough to pound out of the headphones over Peter's ears, but not unintelligible enough to tell what song it was. Not that Erik and Charles likely would have known anyway. Neither man appreciated much of the music produced after the mid-sixties. Erik complained it was all hippie music.

"_I'm all for liberal ideals, but they take it much too far, just as the previous generation took it too far in the conservative direction."_

_Charles chuckled. "Sophrosyne, my friend."_

"_Indeed."_

Peter took his headphones off, pausing his Walkman. "The Eagles."

"Is that a song?"

The boy cast a disbelieving look at Charles. "It's the _band_. I was listening to 'Desperado.'"

Erik and Charles shared a look of befuddlement and uncaring. "Alright… turn it down before you go deaf. I don't know why headphones were allowed on electronics," Charles continued, complaining about that as he often did, "They make you go deaf so easily. You couldn't go deaf from a record player, because you had to put your ear right up against it to do so and crank it to full volume."

Sighing, Erik took Charles's last bishop. "Young people," he muttered.

"Curmudgeonnssssss," Peter sang, putting the headphones back on and playing what was apparently The Eagles.

_Charles?_

The telepath glanced up under the guise of cracking his neck, knowing something was amiss if Erik chose telepathy as their mode of communication. _What's wrong?_

_INTERPOL. I can sense their badges, heading this way._

_Great_, Charles muttered sarcastically, knowing the INTERPOL agents were headed their way, because that was their luck in life. _Peter?_

_Huh?_

_INTERPOL is here. Please keep your mouth shut._

_Oh, fine._

The two men, clad in pressed brown suits and hats to partially cover their faces, stopped at their seats on the train. "Monsieur Xavier." One man tipped his hat.

"Herr Lehnsherr," the other man greeted quietly, both their voices soft as they slipped their hands almost simultaneously into their jackets and pulled out badges to prove their allegiance to INTERPOL.

"Ja?" Erik replied, Charles as stiff as he and carefully placing masks over their faces to prevent any facial expression giveaways. They had possibly some of the best poker faces in the world.

They were looking at the briefcases against the wall, on the other side of Erik. Charles and Erik's gazes fell on the stack as well, Peter already staring. "Wo haben Sie erhalten die?"

Erik almost laughed. _Knowing my history, they suspect us of stealing._

Charles internally chuckled. _Trouble follows you everywhere. Take care of it if you'd like._

"Unsere Bankkonten," Erik replied, voice low as he tried honesty as his first tactic.

The men raised their eyebrows, looking at the trio. "Wer ist er?"

Erik smiled as he looked at Peter, proudly taking responsibility for Peter's existence. "Mein Sohn."

The first man hummed. "Monsieur Xavier?"

Oh. Oh dear. Charles almost frowned, but kept his face schooled. He hadn't thought about it before, but being associated with _the_ Erik Lehnsherr might cause severe problems in the future. It wasn't only him he had to think about anymore. If Charles was known to associate with Erik, then it could potentially endanger Gabrielle, his child, Hank, Logan, and his students. That certainly wasn't a favorable future, not after they'd suffered so much strife trying to prevent a darker future from coming into existence.

_Erik?_

_Trouble?_

_Somewhat. Do you mind if I craft out a lie for us?_

_Along the lines of…?_

_Association._

_Ah. Be my guest and throw me under the bus if you must._

Charles mentally chuckled, the sound drifting into Erik's head as he looked up at the agents, pulling out the little Russian he knew, since on Erik's file in any agency, Russian was not one of his listed languages. Erik, of course, would later be informed on what the telepath told the two INTERPOL agents, but for now, Charles would conjure a ruse.

"Pozhaluysta, pomogite mne. YA byl pokhishchen."

The agents nodded to acknowledge what he'd said, after Charles had injected just the right amount of pleading and fear into his quivering voice and desperate gaze. "Herr Lehnsherr-" the second man began, but he never got further as Charles pressed two fingers to his temple, freezing them both.

Peter leaned against the wall, snickering behind his hand as he shook his head in amusement. "You guys are nuts."

Erik grinned dangerously at the boy. "It's a wonder you feel safe around us. Charles?"

"I've got it." Looking at the agents, he quite roughly hammered into the men's brains not to suspect a thing about Charles and Erik being associates, to forget Peter's face, and to report to their Keeper that Charles had been "kidnapped" by Erik. "Now, you will forget the boy next to us. You will report that I have been unwillingly taken hostage by Mr. Lehnsherr. You will continue to think Mr. Lehnsherr and I are enemies. You will tip your hats, apologize for disturbing us, and walk away without a backward glance."

The moment the men were released from Charles's tight mental grasp, they did as he'd instructed, offering small smiles as their fingers touched their hat brims and tipped them downward. "Je m'excuse pour l'intrusion."

"Ja. Ich entschuldige mich auch."

With that, they strolled off, doing just as Charles told them and not casting any glance back. Peter smothered another cackle in his coat sleeve, Erik smirking at his friend.

"Nice work, old friend."

Charles let a smirk creep onto his face as he folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against the seat. "What can I say? I'm good."

* * *

"That was an adventure in itself," Charles chuckled as Erik pushed him through the hall to disembark the plane. Peter had already gone ahead to meet Logan, carrying their suitcases with him. Erik and Charles had the briefcases, and the latter made sure no one noticed Erik not once touched the handles on his chair, and instead urged Charles along with his mind.

"Indeed. Let's do it again sometime."

Charles chuckled. "Let's not and say we did."

"Fine by me."

Logan looked irritated as they approached him outside the airport, puffing on a cigar as Peter grinned and tapped out a rhythm on the hood of the car. "So he came along with ya?"

"Evidently," Charles answered, getting himself into the car with little trouble. He made Erik sit in the backseat with Peter, because though the telepath had grown fonder of the boy in recent years, he was still aggravating to no end and Erik seemed the only person who could put up with him for a lengthy amount of time.

"Have fun?" Logan asked as they pulled away from the curb.

"Not really, no."

He could hear Erik's mental chuckling loud and clear, and shook his head the barest of fractions. Well, not any fun until the last bit on the train, anyway.

* * *

Going upstairs to the study as quickly as he could, Charles found Gabrielle on the couch in there, a book perched on her stomach as she read in silence. That was right. She always hated trying to read anything when there was noise in the background, because she had difficulties tuning things out.

"I have returned, maid Marion," Charles announced, earning a smile and eyeroll.

"I think," his wife replied as she patted her stomach, "This here proves I'm no longer a maiden."

The telepath chuckled as he moved forward, sitting on the couch next to her. Looking over the two open pages of the book, he chuckled. "But my father only read me the action stuff, the good parts. He never bothered with the serious side at all." Charles cast a mischievous look at Gabrielle. "Is that a sleight against me?"

She patted his cheek. "Don't worry, my love, you'll be able to read him plenty of boring little things written by Jane Austen and Herman Melville."

Charles laughed. "I can't even get through their works. Why would I subject my poor child to that kind of senseless torture? We'd both be crying 'Geneva Convention.'" Still chuckling, he put tentative fingertips to his wife's stomach, asking permission to feel for the baby's movement. He agreed it would be bothersome and rather disturbing to have people, even random strangers, walk up to touch his stomach all the time, were he in her position. As a result, he always waited for permission before touching her fully, even though he'd sensed in her mind that he was the only person she didn't mind having touch her stomach.

At Gabrielle's nod, Charles pressed his hand against the fabric of her shirt, feeling an immediate, yet light kick under his hand. "I swear, he knows when you're gone."

"Hm," Charles mused, thinking it over. It was entirely possible his child did know if he was absent, due to his telepathic nature and the fact he reached out to touch the baby's mind rather often.

"I don't know why you worry so," Gabrielle said quietly, placing her hand over his. "You're responsible, you're loving, you already know how to raise children if the interactions with your students are anything to go by."

"I still don't feel ready." He sighed, leaning his head back against the cushions. "My father died when I was young, and my mother didn't care about me one way or the other." Looking down at his lap, he frowned. "I don't know if I can be an adequate father when I didn't have the best example in my youth."

Gabrielle sat up, setting the book aside and taking his face in both hands. "Charles, listen to me. You raised Raven, didn't you?"

"Look how well that's turned out," he whispered, casting his eyes downward.

"She's an adult-she made her own choices. But you raised her when you were growing up yourself, yes?"

He nodded. "But I-"

"Hush. You help Erik with Lorna. You've influenced all the older boys. Scott is practically your son. Why do you jump at the opportunity to take other children under your wing, but shy away from your own child?"

"It's nothing against you-"

"I _know_ it isn't," Gabrielle told him firmly. "My question is not about that. My question is about the fact that you're needlessly scared when you've done so many other, much harder things in life."

Charles sighed, pulling back a little. "I don't want to ruin my own child."

She tilted her head. "What's going on inside that vast mind?"

His eyes stung as he thought, attempting to articulate what he felt. "I… My parents ruined me. I don't want to pass that on to any child of mine."

She might've slapped him, if he didn't appear so lost and downtrodden. He always got that beaten look on his face when he remembered his parents, or his stepfather, or his childhood outside of the times when he thought of that mysterious blue woman. When he thought of Raven, he was full of rueful smiles, fondly yet sadly remembering running screaming out into the rain with her, or when they puzzled out how to make gingerbread themselves around Christmastime. Gabrielle held him and let him talk, even as his throat closed up and he went silent, caught up in his memories until he grounded himself again and became once more the strong man she'd married. Other times, his throat closed for different reasons, be it grief for his long lost father who Charles had hero-worshipped, or lingering fear and bitterness as a result of Cain and Kurt Marko.

Gabrielle suppressed a shudder at the memory of the boy, Charles having confided everything to her before they married. The telepath had wanted to tell her the truth, that he felt damaged, just in case she changed her mind and decided she no longer loved him as a result. She knew how much of a bastard Erik had been as a result, and knew Cain Marko and Sharon Xavier had left a scar on her husband that might never fully heal. Despite it, Charles had tried his utmost to work past it and move on with his life. He'd wanted to do great things rather than let it hold him back, and he certainly had. Gabrielle loved and admired him all the more for his strength, even though he'd slipped so many times. Thankfully, their mutual friends had always been there to catch him and help him back to his feet.

Bringing his head down to rest on her shoulder, she stroked his dark hair. "You won't."

"There have been psychological studies. People who grew up in abusive or manipulative homes are most likely to exhibit the same behavior when raising their own children."

"Sh." She let one finger twirl around the curliness of the hair above his forehead. "You won't. You're so afraid of doing it that I know you won't let it happen."

"You're sure?" He asked quietly, desperate to be reassured he would be alright. That he wouldn't irrevocably destroy their child as he so feared.

"If I weren't sure, I wouldn't tell you this."

He chuckled softly. "I should know better."

"You should, but I forgive you anyway. Even though I love you a little less now," she teased.

"Everyone is so hard on me, goodness," he joked, shifting a little to lie against her more comfortably. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."


	6. Driving Sucks

_I really feel for Erik here, because no matter how old I get, I'll always hate driving. Also, if you want to see the kind of car they're driving, just google it. Pretty cool looking car, and about one of the only 70s cars I could find that wasn't bright freakin' yellow. I would highly recommend looking up the lyrics to Shakira's song, "Octavo Dia." Deep stuff.  
_

* * *

_No soy la clase de idiota  
Que se deja convencer  
Pero digo la verdad  
Y hasta un ciego lo puede ver  
_– _Shakira_

Charles fastened his seatbelt as Erik climbed into the driver's seat of the car, waiting politely until he'd adjusted the seat and fastened his own seatbelt. The car should be fairly easy to drive, and hopefully this wouldn't be a painful endeavor, since Erik could control metal. Charles patted the door arm rest fondly. 1975 Ford Mustang in dark blue. Hank had even approved of the car choice, and if Hank approved, then Charles bought it.

"What do I do first?"

"Alright, put your foot on the left pedal, the brake. Always use your right foot, however. Never use your left foot."

"Why not?"

"I suppose because your feet could get tangled or something? I don't know, it's just a rule."

Erik rolled his eyes, but complied. "Next."

"Now, adjust the rearview mirror so you can see a broad range out the back window." Using the crank, Charles rolled the passenger window down to adjust that mirror so little of the car itself could be seen, instructing Erik to do the same to the driver's side mirror. Once the windows were rolled up again, the telepath gestured to the gear shift in the space between their seats. "'P' is for park, 'R' is for reverse, 'N' is for neutral, 'D' is for drive, and the numbers are for putting the car in low or giving it extra power, but really you only use those for going up steep hills and such."

Erik cast him a flat look. "Why put them there if they have little use?"

Charles shrugged. "Some people have use for them. So, keep your foot on the brake, and shift the car into reverse." The metal bender's hands remained on the wheel as the gear shifted into reverse, and Charles smiled. "Good, now ease your foot off the brake." The car slowly rolled backwards, Charles checking around them for anything they might accidentally hit. "Turn the wheel to the right."

Erik did as told, frowning and sighing through his nose as Charles told him to brake. "Now what?"

"Keep your foot on the brake and shift into drive."

Doing as instructed, the car rolled forward.

"Straighten out the wheel and lightly touch the gas pedal."

The car lurched forward, the seatbelts barely restraining the two men from hitting their heads on the wheel and dashboard, respectively. The giant machine jolted to a stop almost instantly after, Erik's jaw clenched as his hands gripped the wheel tightly.

"Alright, everything's fine. Just relax." When Erik's muscles didn't relax, Charles sighed. "My friend, I promise, it's fine."

"I hate driving already," Erik muttered.

"It'll become easier, I promise. Now, try again. Visualize a butterfly landing on the pedal, rather than a ton of bricks."

"Really?" Erik rolled his eyes. "Thank you for the imagery," he replied sarcastically.

"Hush and do as I say."

This time, the car rolled gently forward, though Charles glared at Erik. "What?"

"Stop cheating and use your foot."

"_Fine_," Erik ground out, the car coming to a light stop as he let his power flow back out of it. He couldn't understand why that simply wouldn't work, rather than driving like a normal person. Erik carefully touched his foot to the pedal, and the car rolled forward again, this time with only a slight lurch.

"There, see? Easy. Go a little faster, all the way to the stop sign."

Erik reluctantly did as told, knuckles still white on the steering wheel as he tried to regulate his breathing. It didn't help that he kept visualizing, rather than a butterfly as Charles had suggested, but the car lurching forward again and hitting a child. Lorna, to be precise.

"Erik, relax. Take deep breaths. You're not going to hit Lorna-she's taking a nap."

"That's the wonderful thing about the imagination, Charles. It is most often illogical," he bit out through gritted teeth as the car finally stopped at the sign.

"Good." The telepath sighed. "We can go home now."

The car suddenly screeched backward, Charles's eyes wide in fear as he gripped anything sturdy. Heart pounding his chest as he gasped, the car spun around and drove back up to stop in the driveway, Charles's head almost hitting the dashboard again. He let himself breathe heavily, that being the only sound in the car, before he slowly turned his head to flatten the man next to him with a glare containing the fire of a thousand suns.

"That was fun. We should do it again sometime," Erik said cheerfully.

"Do that again, and I will burn you alive."

Erik grinned widely, Charles's fingers tightening on the dashboard. Friends they may be, but that didn't mean he couldn't be royally pissed off at Erik.

* * *

"I hate leaving Gabrielle."

"You'll get over it."

"Thanks for the sympathy," Charles replied wryly.

"You wanted to go to the beach. This is your last chance to do so until your child is old enough to not eat the sand. So I'm taking you to the beach. Why are you still complaining?"

"My wife is very close to _having_ the child. I don't want to risk not being there if things happen to start early."

Erik rolled his eyes as he shifted Lorna on his hip. "Even if you missed the beginning, you still get to enjoy ten more hours of her being angry with you for fertilizing one of her eggs."

"And how would you know she'd be angry?"

"I have witnessed three women bearing children. Without fail, they all made at least one comment about how I wouldn't be allowed in bed with them again."

Charles laughed. "Really? And whose fault was that, I wonder?"

Erik raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Mine, evidently."

"C'monnnnn, guysssss!" Peter called from the edge of the boardwalk, impatient to get on the beach even though he spent all his time pretending to be Jesus because he could run across water.

Logan grumbled and shifted Charles in his grasp. "Damn, you need to stop eating so much."

"I already suggested it years ago."

"Both of you shut up about my weight," Charles replied, pointing an arm forward. "Onward, Sir Logan!"

"Why do I have to carry him?"

"Because I'm old and shouldn't be lifting more than a toddler anyway."

Logan unsheathed one of his middle claws, flashing it to Erik. Before he could say anything, however, Charles smacked him. "Don't do that in front of Lorna."

"Were you guys assholes even as kids?" He rolled his eyes when he received another smack.

"I was," Erik replied. "I think Charles had it in him, but he suppressed it and that's why his id grew into a tumor."

Charles chuckled a little. "Perhaps. Or you just thought of that to take the blame off yourself."

"It's one of my many skills-passing blame off on someone else."

_He was definitely always an asshole._

The telepath snorted at Logan's thought cast toward him. _He has his shining moments. Unfortunately, in the past many years before Lorna, he was more of a dick._

_No, really? I hadn't noticed by the way he likes to beat up other mutants even though he wants to "protect us."_

_I'm still sanding the rough edges._

_Work faster before he snaps again._

_He didn't actually snap. I keep telling everyone this and they never listen. Did he leave during the Entebbe Crisis?_

_No._

_Then he didn't snap._

_Really? Coulda sworn almost melting the kitchen and making us replace the tvs and radios counted as "snapping."_

Charles sighed. _He made his decision to stay. I reminded him of it, so he tried his best to practice self-restraint and look after Lorna… rather than causing a slaughter in Uganda and Palestine._

_Good thing too. Magneto doesn't need to resurface and stir shit up again._

_Oh, Logan, I always appreciate your colloquial way of expression._

_It's a gift._

Chuckling quietly, the professor looked out across the seaside grass they marched through, beyond that at the white sand and very blue ocean. "I picked a good place to settle down. It's just a shame our students lately have been so temporary."

"We'll get more when the semester starts again," Erik reassured.

"I hope so. Much as I love all of your company, I also see your faces every waking and sleeping moment, so it's nice to have new people around."

"Keep you on your toes?"

"Indeed. You really did know me well, Logan. It keeps me socializing skills up to date when I have to interact with new people very often, rather than being around the same handful."

"I would prefer the opposite," Erik broke in.

Charles waved him off. "Not my fault you're antisocial. It's good for you to meet people."

"I beg to differ." Erik chuckled as Peter waved them over to the area he'd set up.

"I suppose you already slathered Lorna in about five layers of sunscreen?"

"Another layer won't hurt," Erik replied as he sat down and began doing just that. Lorna wrinkled her nose, but patiently sat still until Erik told her to go crazy. She bolted off across the sand, screeching happily with Peter ambling after her.

"You should put sunscreen on yourself," Charles told Erik as Logan slid the telepath off his back.

_I'm never giving you a piggy back ride again. You're too fat._

_I weigh less than I should, thank you._

"If I haven't died from sun exposure yet, I highly doubt I will today."

Rolling his eyes, Charles proceeded to coat himself in sunscreen anywhere that didn't have shorts or a shirt covering. "Logan, how exactly did I go outside when it was sunny, being bald?"

"Sunscreen," he answered, lighting a cigar. A breeze traveling across the beach suddenly picked up into a gust, blowing out the glow on the brown roll. Nearer the water, Lorna fell over, but Peter nabbed her before she hit the ground, Erik relaxing just as quickly as he'd tensed.

"I knew bonding with my eldest spawn would pay off."

Charles snorted. "'Eldest spawn?' He has a name, you know."

"I think it's funny," Peter replied, having appeared in front of them with Lorna slung across his back, small arms wrapped in almost a choke hold around his neck. "Hey, kid, I told you that you gotta not choke me if you want a piggy back ride."

"Okay," Lorna replied, but didn't move her arms at all.

Peter rolled his eyes and zipped off, appearing at the water and pulling Lorna off him. She screeched happily and kicked around in the water just hitting the beach, Peter bending down to pick up a seashell for her.

"Do you think I could hire out Peter as a babysitter?"

Erik chuckled. "If you provided him with material goods as payment, rather than cash."

"Right," Charles said a tad uncomfortably, recalling that Peter had no use for money since he never paid for anything.

"He's been fond of Lite Brite lately."

"Really?" Charles raised an eyebrow. "That's… for children."

"Technically, so are most card games, but has that stopped us?"

"True. So… Lite Brites?"

"Right. Oh, and tapes for his Walkman. Don't bother with Pink Floyd, he already owns everything."

Charles chuckled. "I suppose he snatches the new tapes off the shelf the second they come out?"

"Exactly. I've witnessed it myself, actually."

"While you two sit and gossip like old women, I'm gonna go do some normal people stuff. Like, you know, _swim_."

Charles waved at him as he left. "Have fun." Lying back, he sighed a little wistfully. "Oh, I do miss swimming."

Erik looked down at him. "You never struck me as someone who liked to swim."

"Raven…" He paused, swallowing. "She always told me I looked like a wet cat, but I loved it."

Thinking for a moment, Erik sat up further. "Would you like to try it again?"

"What?" He furrowed his brow. "Swimming requires… unbroken legs. Last I checked, I didn't fit that description."

"Nonsense. Paraplegics swim all the time."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"Do you want to swim or not?"

Charles peered up at him. "You're not going to just… throw me in and let the current carry me away, are you?"

Erik laughed. "It's a possibility. Get rid of the annoying telepath who still makes me have tea with him after afternoon at four, even though I hate tea."

Said telepath grinned. "You're so uncultured."

"Says the man who, as I recall being told, stood on a table, proceeded to drink a yard of ale, and then roared after."

Charles propped himself up on his elbow, making a face at Erik. "I was enjoying my youth."

"Your rich, pampered lapdog youth," Erik teased.

"If you had such a terrible young adulthood, then where did Peter come from?"

"Lack of contraception?" Erik suggested.

Charles laughed, throwing his head back. "I highly doubt that."

"I was already almost thirty when I had him."

"Where did the second woman come in, then?"

Erik's eyes darkened a little, and Charles grimaced when he realized he'd crossed a line. "Before I was twenty." He stared off at the water, unseeing for a moment before he visibly shook himself. "Now, swimming?"

"Oh, alright, I'll give it a go. I still think this is a foolish endeavor. Just… don't tell Gabrielle when I inevitably flop around like a dying fish."

Erik smothered his laughter the best he could. "No promises."

He snorted as Erik braced himself, picking Charles up with a grunt. "Some friend you are."

"Who's the one carrying a fat professor?" Erik ground out, trying to quickly move across the sand with Charles in his grasp, though he stumbled under his weight.

"My friend, you really didn't have to. You've never been very muscular to begin with."

"Too late now," Erik replied. Before Charles had time to yelp or grab onto Erik, the man dropped him in the shallows of the ocean. He bent over on his knees, trying to catch his breath as Charles threw his arms back to brace himself upright.

"Are you quite alright?"

Erik shook his head as he drew in another breath. "I'm so… old."

Charles laughed, despite himself. He reached out and patted Erik's leg. "There, there."

"Not… helping." Erik finally straightened, seeming to have caught his breath for the most part. "Now, how's that?"

"I'm in a salty bathtub, essentially," Charles replied in amusement.

"Fine, I'll drag you further out."

"No, no, no, n-" Charles gasped in a lungful of air and held it as his head went underwater, Erik having grabbed him by the ankle to, quite literally, drag him deeper. Charles came up spluttering, but was unharmed, so he didn't do more than glare at his friend. "You're not a very good friend."

"Good thing you aren't permanently chained to me like you are with Gabrielle."

Charles rolled his eyes. "Marriage isn't chaining myself to anyone."

"Regardless, is this better?"

"Well, considering the water is now up to my neck, this is actually starting to feel more like swimming."

"Good." Erik sat down next to him, closing his eyes as a slightly bigger wave sloshed into their faces. He snickered as Charles spluttered again, earning a belated smack to his arm that lost most of its momentum due to being underwater. "Having fun?"

"Hardly," Charles huffed. "I'm done, take me back."

"I'm not taking you completely out of the water, because that would make my suffering from carrying you moot."

The telepath groaned as Erik dragged him back by his arms this time, but at least didn't have to suffer the indignity of having his head go under unwillingly again. "Thank you," he said reluctantly after he found himself back where the water was only up his chest. He crossed his legs, because as irritating as being in the ocean was, having his legs float to the top would make it more aggravating.

"Hey, guys," Peter said, appearing in front of them with Lorna on his hip, the small girl grasping a large styrofoam cup full of seashells.

"I see we have another day of seashells to add to the monstrous collection," Erik observed, sighing.

Peter grinned amiably. "She finds the best ones. I swear, her power's probably gonna be something along the lines of finding the best stuff around."

"Perhaps she could find the car keys for us when Erik is gone."

The boy laughed. "Or help me find the bags of chips at the store that aren't crushed into shards."


	7. Song of Sirens, Crash Into Rocks

_I've been waiting for a while to bring in this mutant, so let me know what you guys think. Thank you to Phoenixhp5t3 for leaving a review!_

* * *

_The sea is lonely, the sea is dreary…  
Calling solemnly to thee…  
_"_To the shore, follow! Oh, follow! To be at rest forevermore! Forevermore!"  
_– _James Russell Lowell_

"Professor, we got a letter from Dr. Reyes," Scott announced, handing him the envelope and standing close by him, one hand gripping the armrest as he eagerly awaited Charles opening it. Leaning his head on the telepath's shoulder, he smiled contentedly when Charles ruffled his hair a bit before tearing part of the envelope off. Sliding his finger along the paper, the casing came open and Charles pulled the letter from it.

"What did she write you about that she can't just think at you?" Alex asked, leaning on the back of Hank's chair, the slightly older man busying himself with reading a physics article and eating a slice of pie. He never paid more than half his attention to any mail they got, knowing if it was something important, Charles would alert him later.

"Alex, can I read it and find out?" Charles asked somewhat sardonically, unfolding the sheet of yellow legal pad paper. He started to open his mouth to read aloud, as he usually did, but furrowed his brow at the opening words, before lightly tapping Scott's arm to let the boy know he needn't be reading it right now. "I um… I'll take this in my study."

"What's wrong?" Gabrielle asked.

"Er… nothing, I don't think. I'll confide in you all later, I promise." He reversed his chair away from the table, turning and going to his study. He locked the door, though he knew Erik had already slipped into the room before Charles had. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead. "My friend, I… I don't know if I can read this."

"Why not?"

Charles wordlessly handed him the letter, putting a hand to his mouth and trying to calm his racing mind. It had stalled briefly when his eyes had skipped ahead to the word "Cassidy" written on the page, and he hadn't been able to read anything but that name, over and over. Let alone read it aloud to the only three left who had had a personal attachment to the only person they'd known with that name. It would caused them all too much grief.

Taking the paper, Erik only heard the single word of warning drifting through his consciousness, _Cassidy…_, before he began to read. Needless to say, he froze when his eyes fell upon it as well, and Erik pulled away from reading it. He couldn't continue. Sean was still too fresh a wound in his mind, after all these years.

In the end, they tried to get Alex and Hank both to read it, but neither man could look past that name. All four men stood in agony in Charles's study, until Charles managed to gather the courage to summon in Scott. He knew who Sean was, but he didn't feel the pain they all felt when the boy was mentioned.

"Scott, could you read this aloud to us? I'm afraid we're…"

"Too sad to read it?" Scott questioned tentatively, receiving four nods. "Alright." He took the letter, backing up a few paces to swing himself onto the edge of Charles's desk. "Dear Charles…"

_I imagine, since you haven't contacted me in a panic, everything is fine and nobody has died yet. Or Erik hasn't killed anyone yet… or, the third alternative, Erik has killed someone and you just haven't found out. I digress. I forwarded a box to Hank, from that Marion girl. Hopefully it really is just scientific samples and not recreational drugs. Marion seems like a smart girl, but you can't be too careful with young people these days… or careful with you, apparently. Come on, you had to know I'd never let you live down that marijuana incident._

_Ink is great. Good kid and working hard on his nursing degree, though he is mocked by the non-drugged out guys around here. He takes it in stride, however, and hasn't beaten anyone up yet, which I consider to be progress. He's still minoring in art so he can become a tattoo artist as a backup, though I told him it's a silly career. Oh well, he'll be raking in cash, so what do I care?_

_There is something I'd like to discuss with you, however. There's a girl who showed up at the mansion recently, when I was up there to get the junk mail. She's fairly young, said she's thirteen. Red hair, freckles, braces, already does marijuana, which is concerning, but I let it slide for now. She's staying with Ink and I, because apparently she's running from foster care, since her mother, I guess, died in childbirth, and her grandparents, who raised her, died recently. Name is Terry Cassidy. Sound familiar to you at all? She has a letter from Sean. That Sean._

_He's her father. I took the old DNA samples Hank had saved from all of you and ran a test to match it with hers, and it's a perfect match. Science doesn't lie, so unless some freaky magic or mutant power made her DNA match, then she's Sean Cassidy's little spawn. She refused to let me read the letter he apparently wrote her, but she claims it mentions Westchester, you, Hank, Alex, and the school. I didn't want to just spring this on you by shipping her off to Haifa, because it wouldn't be fair to anyone. However, you need to deal with this ASAP, because though I don't mind a temporary house guest, her power is the same damn thing as Sean had, and it's pissing me off when she sees a spider and shatters the windows._

_Let me know what to do with the kid. I guess I could deal with her if you really want me to, but I'm not sending the poor kid to foster care. We both know it's a shitty joke, if Alex is anything to go by. So, you know, put your old fingers to your temple as soon as you get this letter._

– _Cecilia_

* * *

Charles and Hank had elected to pick Terry up at the airport, Alex too upset and struggling to deal with his emotions to be able to stand it. Erik chose to look after the house, since though Gabrielle had handled herself well the past few months, she was too close to having the baby to easily keep up with so many people.

The telepath and scientist kept their eyes straight on the road and horizon ahead, coming closer to the airport with each passing minute. Hank's hands were clutched the steering wheel like a lifeline, and Charles had his arms crossed with his hands clenched into fists.

"Thank you, Hank."

The other man shrugged. "Someone had to be a good support. Morty and Spyke are nice, but they…" He cleared his throat. "They didn't know him."

Charles nodded, sighing softly. "So, um… what was in the box from Marion?"

"Samples of recreational drugs."

He chuckled a little. "What for, exactly?"

"I've been picking apart the chemical compounds in various drugs. Marijuana, LSD, PCP, cocaine, crack-"

"I thought cocaine and crack were the same thing."

"Crack is a cheaper form you usually inject into your bloodstream."

"Ah." Charles made a face. "I hope you don't know this from experience."

"Just reading, I promise."

"I shouldn't worry about you, should I? You're straight and no-nonsense."

Hank smiled slightly. "I try."

* * *

The girl was young. Thirteen, just a few years older than Scott. She was carrying a suitcase, backpack on her shoulders as she drifted out into the airport, seeming lost in the confusion. Charles reached out, carefully brushing her mind to beckon her nearer to them, and she jumped a little. Picking her way through the crowds of people, she blinked at them. "Uh… hi."

"Hello," Charles greeted, holding out a hand. "I'm Charles Xavier. This is my associate, Hank McCoy."

She shook their hands, though her gaze was bleary, and Charles belatedly realized her eyes were a little bloodshot, not from tiredness, but from something else he knew all too well. "So you guys are… the ones that… that my dad talked about." She didn't seem to notice Hank's flinch as she held up the envelope clasped in her hand. "Tall geeky guy and a British professor." Terry giggled a little. "So where's the blond ring of fire?"

Charles couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "He's back at the house. Come on, this way."

Terry followed, Hank taking her suitcase from her when she dropped it twice and carrying it in one hand like it was a feather. Advantages to technically being a Beast, he mused. He put the suitcase in the trunk, helping Charles into the front seat as Terry slid into the back.

"So you guys, like… got any good food at the house?"

They might've laughed, had Terry's behavior, coupled with her parentage, not been so agonizing to contemplate. "Yes, we do. Cheetos," Charles suggested, Terry beaming.

"So who else is at the house? Is it just you guys, or some other people?"

"There's Erik, Lorna, Spyke, Morty, Logan, Alex, Peter, Scott, and Gabrielle. We'll have plenty of introductions once we get there. Some of them are a little moody, but they're not bad when you get to know them."

"Groovy."

* * *

Alex couldn't help staring at her the minute she walked through the door. The resemblance was uncanny, and it made him ache all over. She looked like a girly version of one of his best friends. The one whose blood had splattered across Hank's face after a hole had been blown through his chest.

Terry Cassidy. She was high, clearly, though seemed nice enough anyway. She called him the blond ring of fire, and when he asked where she got that name, she said her father had described as being that. Which made him want to hurl himself off a skyscraper.

"You guys got any chocolate milk?"

He and Hank were the only ones in the kitchen with her. He had to wonder if some cruel god had planned this, so they'd have to face the daughter of their long dead best friend.

"Uh…" Alex turned away, opening the fridge and rifling through it, if only to be able to not look at her. "Right here," he replied, pulling out and getting a cup from the cupboard. He poured out half a cup, setting it on the table because he couldn't bear to hand it to her. He had a feeling he'd react like he'd been burned if he touched her.

"Thanks, dude." Terry picked up the cup and gulped it down, leaving a chocolate milk mustache on her upper lip, which she quickly wiped away. "So, you guys knew my dad, huh?"

Hank inclined his head, though his eyes were pained. "Yes. He was our closest friend."

"Sounds like it," Terry said, tapping the envelope she'd set on the table. The envelope containing the letter Sean had written her before she'd been born. "He said if I ended up being a mutant and stuff, that… I could come here, y'know? Well, not like, _here_ here. Westchester. But since you guys are here now, I came here."

It was horrible of him, but he wished she hadn't come here. Wished Sean had never told her about Westchester, or Hank, or Charles, or him. Wished Terry had just stayed the hell away and never thought about running off to find them. Then he wouldn't have to face Sean again, that stupid phantom voice in his head, that face he saw when he dreamed at night. Then he wouldn't have to face the fact that he failed to protect his friend, and Sean had paid the price for it. Dearly. They couldn't take his body with them. They didn't have time. They came back later, but it wasn't there anymore.

Raven found out what happened. Years later, now four years ago. She found it in Trask's file on autopsy reports. Sean's body dissected for horrific "research" by a monster of a human.

Alex didn't want to face Sean. He didn't want to face Terry. He couldn't face any of this bullshit that made him want to cry like he was a little kid. So he ran out the back door, slamming it shut behind him. He scrambled up and over the back fence before Hank could even call after him, running down the alleys and sidewalks. He paid no attention to where he went. He just had to escape what he couldn't face.


	8. A Big Fat NOPE

_So we finally see what exactly happened with Cain that Charles kept having nightmares over in "Join Me." We also finally see the baby, at last. Thank you to Phoenixhp5t3 for leaving a review! This is the end of part I, and I admittedly will be taking a short break before I begin writing part II. However, I am going to release a tie-in to this universe, under the name "Skyfall."  
_

* * *

_I jumped the gun, so sure you'd split and run.  
Ready for the worst before the damage was done.  
_– _Ms Mr_

He quietly walked across the sand, the skies above them cloudy and close to raining. Hands in his pockets, he stopped next to the blond, whose head hung as he sat on the beach. "Hey."

"Hey."

Sitting down next to him, Hank sighed. "I have no words of comfort, I'm sorry."

"Honestly? I think it's better you don't have anything to say." Alex shrugged. "At least you're not trying to pretend it's totally fine Sean's kid is here."

They both sighed again. "Are you going anywhere?"

"No." Alex shook his head, picking up a handful of sand and lightly tossing it away. "I don't know. Maybe. It's just… Scott, and all… Plus, I know you guys don't technically need my help, but I feel like I oughta stay. With the new baby, plus now we've got a ton of people, and then school's starting again in the fall."

"Well…" Hank thought hard for a moment, sighing. "You know, we can't run from it forever."

"I know. But I'm running until I can't anymore."

Hank stood, holding out a hand to help Alex up. "Come on."

"I'm not going back to the house."

"Nor am I."

Alex took Hank's hand and hauled himself to his feet, walking along the sand with him in silence for a long while. They didn't have to ask each other if they felt the same way about Sean's death. It was never a question whether they felt the same. Always a statement of fact.

"It feels as though he died yesterday. Other times, it feels as though it was a full lifetime ago."

"I want to blame Emma and Riptide. And Erik for it too. And Charles. But…" Alex kicked at the sand. "We all wanted to go and help them. We made the choice to go, Charles didn't force us."

"My worst regret, after not protecting him, is… not taking his body with us."

They stopped and turned to face one another. "I didn't even know he had a girlfriend."

"None of us did, evidently." Hank took a deep breath, bracing himself as he exhaled slowly. "You know… she needs us."

"Bullshit." Alex started to walk away, but Hank grabbed his shoulder.

"She has no one, Alex."

"Are you kidding me? She fucking has everyone at the house."

"Not in the same way. We knew him better than even Charles did. We can't…"

Alex looked at the ground. "Can't abandon the kid of our dead best friend."

"To put it colloquially, we'd be shitty people if we did. How can we possibly honor Sean's memory if we refuse to stand within a fifty mile radius of her?"

Alex picked up a stick nearby, walking a few feet away from his friend. He looked at it for several long moments, the wood still damp and dark from the ocean air. Snapping it roughly in half, he hurled first one half, then the other as far as he could out into the windy water. "The fuck do you want me to be to her? Her father?"

Hank shook his head. "No. Just… someone who looks after her and cares about her the most… an uncle, in a way."

"An uncle?" Alex asked in a disbelieving tone, crossing his arms. "You've finally lost your mind."

"Perhaps I have. You cannot deny you're contemplating it."

He snorted, bitterly. "Thought you weren't a telepath."

"I don't need to be. I know you too well."

The corner of Alex's mouth turned up slightly. He looked up at the sky, which had begun to spit tiny droplets of rain. "It's weird how it's raining in the middle of July in Israel."

Hank took off his glasses so they wouldn't gather water drops on the lenses. "It… is odd, actually," the scientist replied, frowning. _Exceptionally odd…_

* * *

In the end, Alex decided he'd try to take care of Terry. No guarantees or promises, however, so for the time being, Hank was swallowing his pain and looking after the girl. He had swiftly informed Charles of his new responsibility, and the older man had pondered it for a moment, seeming unsure.

"_Hank… I… I think this will be good for you. Help you move past what happened."_

"_What of you?"_

_Charles smiled a little. "I'm beginning to deal with it as well."_

"Please stop touching things," Hank told the girl, after what felt like the thousandth time of telling her the same thing.

"What _is_ all this crap anyway?"

"Those, specifically, are beakers containing acidic solutions. If they spill on you, your skin will be eaten away to the bone."

Terry swiftly backed away. "Geez, man, you trying to kill people?"

"Not necessarily on purpose." Hank switched out the slides on his microscope, peering at it and pulling away to make some notes.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Er…" Hank lightly pushed Terry back away from his shoulder a bit. "Examining the chemical makeup of various recreational drugs."

"Which ones?"

"Cocaine, right now." Hank tapped the slide. "Don't sniff this."

Terry laughed. "That stuff's bad. I never wanted to try it."

"Excellent. Keep that mindset until you're dead, please."

She gave him a thumbs up. "No problem, dude."

_I've decided to act as a parental figure, and she calls me "dude." My life in a nutshell._

* * *

Charles was freaking out.

No, not freaking out. Freaking out was putting it far too lightly.

He was terrified, ready to bail out the window of the Empire State Building, and splatter on the asphalt far below.

Charles wrung his hands again, breathing shaky as he sat in the waiting room. Erik had politely but very reluctantly come along for support, and now he sat completely calm next to the telepath, reading a newspaper as he paid little attention to the process of Charles melting down like a nuclear reactor.

"Charles, for the last time, everything is fine. Your wife wasn't in pain when we brought her in, but medical staff love to blow everything out of proportion regardless."

He gripped the arms of his chair, squeezing them until his knuckles turned white. "How can you be so _nonchalant_, Erik?"

The older man lowered his newspaper with a long sigh. "It's premature labor. Not an aneurysm." He grabbed Charles's wrist as he started to wring his hands again. "Stop that. Gabrielle is fine, your brat is fine, and you need to get to the point of fine."

He moaned, rubbing his forehead. "Something has to be wrong, otherwise she wouldn't be having the baby early."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Yes, Charles, something is wrong." The telepath jerked his head up, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Something is terribly, absolutely wrong. Your wife and child are both bleeding to death despite having no wounds whatsoever. But due to the force of you worrying and consequently aggravating me, something has suddenly gone wrong. Oh, dear, I believe your child has been born with a congenital heart defect- well, now, you won't have to deal with it, because it's dead. And so is your wife."

At Charles's utterly shocked face, Erik sighed. "Now will you shut the hell up and calm yourself? The sky is not falling. Relax." Lifting his newspaper again, he ignored the incredulous looks he was receiving from other people in the waiting room and went back to his reading.

* * *

_How are you feeling?_

_Not bad, actually. I thought this would be a much bigger ordeal than it is._

_Really? So you're alright?_

_Perfectly. They're actually considering letting you in, now they've established I'm not dying or anything. _Gabrielle mentally rolled her eyes. _Hospitals sure know how to overreact._

_I admit, I've been rather worried…_

_I know. I could feel it._

_I'm sorry, I didn't mean to let that-_

_Hush. Relax, Charles. You worry too much to be healthy._

_People keep telling me that._

_Because it's true._

_Oh, turns out you're right. I'll be there in a few minutes._

_Good. I need some entertainment for the next several hours._

* * *

Erik and Charles had moved to sit in the room where Gabrielle was confined, Erik in a chair in the corner and nearly finished with the newspaper now. Charles had swung himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his thumb soothingly on the back of his wife's hand as they talked quietly.

Gabrielle had been grateful to Erik for volunteering to bring her to the hospital and staying so Charles could be with her. The telepath had hated himself more than a little for not being able to stay there with his wife without needing a chauffeur, but he shoved down the feelings so he could focus on the matter at hand.

There had been talk of putting Gabrielle through surgery, despite nothing being wrong, and Charles had nearly pitched a fit over the stupidity. Personal experience had taught him that surgery without anything really being wrong tended to screw a person over. If only he'd objected, then he might be walking even with crutches. Too late now, though, so there was little use dwelling on what might have been. All he knew is that he didn't want to risk something actually happening if they did operate on his wife.

She tensed again, though after prodding around in her mind earlier, he'd found she had been through worse pain, so this was "nothing" compared to that. Still, he could hardly bear to see her in any sort of pain, whether major or not.

_You alright?_

_My uterus is clenching like a vice. Of course I'm alright._

Charles kissed her hand. _I'm sorry. I could try siphoning off some pain onto myself._

_You will do no such thing, especially not when this is barely any pain at all._

_You're sure?_

_Completely._

He sighed, but didn't go against her wishes, because he didn't relish the thought of her grabbing him by the ear like he was a naughty schoolboy. "So… the weather has certainly been interesting lately."

"You're the worst at small talk, my love."

Charles chuckled. "I never claimed to be good at it. I was born into the wrong social class."

Gabrielle laughed. "No, no, you're too good at blowing money to not be meant for the rich lifestyle."

"It's what I keep telling him," Erik broke in, folding up the newspaper into a neat rectangle.

"You," Gabrielle started, turning to Erik, "on the other hand, are so incredibly frugal I can hardly believe you have wealth that rivals Charles's."

Erik raised an eyebrow in amusement. "It helps to be a masterful thief as well. The bonus is my daughter will grow up to be financially responsible."

"So does that mean our child will grow up barely able to remember how much money he spent and when?" Charles inquired, chuckling.

"Gabrielle will balance it out a little, but for the most part, yes."

Erik picked up a magazine and began to flick through it boredly as Gabrielle tensed again, Charles back to frowning over her as would continue for several more hours.

* * *

_Charles, if you siphon anything off, I will throttle you._

_I don't believe you're in a position to do so, much as I admire your conviction._ Charles pressed two fingers to his temple, pressing his hand to Gabrielle's stomach as the contraction continued to build. The all-encompassing pain hit him full force, and he jerked back, the pain still gripping his body as he fell off his perch on the bed. He felt something catch him before he hit the floor, and squinted through the agony to see Erik's face, exasperated.

"Charles, you're moronic."

He moaned in response, biting his tongue as it nearly pitched into a scream. One hand still grasping at his head, even as he writhed while Erik pulled him up, he grabbed the fabric of his friend's shirt, desperate for something to hold onto. His breath rasped as the pain exploded through his body, stars dancing across his vision and everything else slipping out of awareness. He was Charles, this was all psychosomatic for him, and he wanted to put a bullet through his head to make the scorching torture end.

Slowly, the fire began to ebb, and he became aware he was panting and trembling. Still grasping something in his hand, fabric, soft. Black… a turtleneck. Erik's shirt. Right.

He licked his lips, tasting blood as he blinked past the wetness clouding his vision.

"You're an idiot," a female voice said, one his brain belatedly recognized as Gabrielle's.

"Extremely so." Erik's voice flickered into his mind.

Charles inched a hand up to run a hand through his air, moaning. Not trusting his voice to do anything but croak, he brushed against Erik and Gabrielle's minds instead. _I feel like I've been run over and sliced in half by a train._

Erik's voice was half amused, though Charles could sense he had worried when his friend suddenly collapsed and lost awareness to the outside world. _I'm beginning to sense why you aren't the one bearing a child._

_I'd love to see you deal with that kind of pain, _Charles sniped back, breathing and heart rate finally beginning to slow.

_No thank you._

Charles slowly sat up with Erik's help, switching gears to talk with Gabrielle.

_Don't do that again._

_I don't want you feeling that pain anymore. It's horrible._

_Charles, I've had worse cramps during my time of the month than this._

He blanched at her. _I… my God, how do you put up with that? How do you _live_?_

Gabrielle sent a feel of a mental kiss to his forehead. _You have a very low pain tolerance, my dear, even though you try not to show it. It's not that bad, I promise._

_Are you quite certain?_

_Absolutely. Relax. Try not to have a seizure, please._

_I will… do my best. _The telepath frowned, resting his chin in his hand as he blinked tiredly. _I'm worn out._

_So take a power nap._

_You're still in labor-_

_Erik is good company. We can talk about books._

_But-_

_Charles, rest._

_I really don't want to._

_I don't care if you want to or not. I told you to rest._

_You'll be a wonderful mother._

_Good to know. Sleep._

_I suppose… just for a few minutes…_

* * *

"She's fine," Erik told him for the hundredth time, resting a comforting hand on Charles's shoulder when he winced and drew his fingers away from his temple.

"I can feel her in pain," he replied quietly, clenching one hand into a fist.

"It's normal."

"I hate this. I should…" He glared at his lap. "I should be there with her. If I were able to walk…" He grimaced. "We shouldn't have gotten rid of the rest of the serum. Then I could have taken it and I could be _there_ with her-"

Erik squeezed his shoulder, shooting him a glare. "Enough of that. You're Charles Xavier, not… wallowing drunk hiding in his castle. You wouldn't be of any use if you were in there, walking."

Charles cast him a disbelieving look, but Erik leveled him with a look of "you know I'm right."

He dove into a nurse's mind, picking his way to the forefront and sifting through the files on the mental desk until he came upon Gabrielle. She was close. The baby would be there any minute.

Charles swiftly backed away, the realization hitting him. In any of the next minutes, he would be a father. Wrapping his arms around himself, he began to rock back and forth, ignoring Erik as his breath grew more shallow.

He had been through so many ridiculously complicated and difficult things in life, yet this would take the cake for the most difficult thing he would ever deal with. He wasn't ready, he knew that for a fact. He doubted, even when his child was an adult, that he would ever still feel ready. Raising a child, another living, feeling, thinking creature was the most enormous responsibility he could be given. Taking care of already half-raised children was one thing. He almost did that in his sleep, at this point, after taking in so many fosters and orphans.

But starting from scratch seemed as futile as climbing Mount Everest in his physical condition. How could he do this? He knew, logically, he had to whether he felt ready or not, because he'd committed to this child when it was conceived. Yet illogically his mind was overwhelmed with an angry wasp's nest of doubts and hypotheticals, one very large hypothetical kept smacking his astral form to the ground, pummeling him mercilessly as he cried out and tried to get away. He was ensnared, cornered in his own mind, with no way out and no light at the end of the tunnel. Only darkness and enraged, taunting buzzing as he was repeatedly beaten down.

_What if I screw up and hurt this innocent being?_

Charles covered his head with his hands, curling into a ball and turning his back to the swift kicking that now came from his greatest tormentor, Cain. The teenager was laughing wickedly, slamming his foot into Charles's spine and breaking it. A cruel hand descended upon him then, dragging him to the dreaded spot in the woods where brambles were wildly overgrown and scratched him all over his face as Cain dragged him through. A heavy weight landed on him, yanking at his trousers even as he screamed and tried to move away. All his doubts, all his fears and memories endlessly torturing him.

And then a girl appeared. Wavy blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, wielding his old baseball bat, swinging it to crack against Cain's skull and knocking him off Charles. The skin on the teen's temple split open and gushed blood, the blood pooling on the ground and forming words as a version of him, eyes ringed with dark but still familiar, pulled him to his feet and hauled him away.

_You're alright. Run, Charles._

Whispering words filled the forest as Onslaught pulled him along through the woods, Raven's enraged screaming at Cain getting fainter as he continued to run. The whispering grew in volume and severity, echoing around him as they stopped in the meadow, the treehouse seeming to glow in one ray of sunlight.

_You won't hurt this child as you were hurt._

_You'll be an amazing father, without any doubt. Look at how your students have turned out. They're leading happy lives, all thanks to you._

_Look at Erik and Logan. Your most helpless students, now happy and in control of themselves. How can you doubt yourself when you managed to fix such broken men?_

_How can you doubt yourself when you pieced yourself back together?_

He scrambled up into the treehouse, desperate for solace there as he had been when Cain tried to take the last of his power away from him. Rocking back and forth, alone in the wooden house, after trying for several moments to beat away the words and memories, he blinked his eyes open

And found himself in the hospital, Erik staring at him with a concerned look on his face.

"You can see Gabrielle now, apparently."

* * *

It relieved him when Gabrielle largely ignored his spluttering, too tired to care much, and she quickly fell asleep when he promised he'd check on their child.

His mind was hardly in order enough to press Erik into telling him he needed to get to where they were keeping his son, but he managed to shake himself past his scattered thoughts. The staff was clearly reluctant to let him in, though he managed to convince them without using any kind of telepathic persuasion. He had to thoroughly disinfect their hands, Charles's chair was sprayed down with disinfectant as well, and it was all he could do to remain patient until the newborn was pressed into his arms.

Charles was sure he passed out for just a second, though Erik later insisted he hadn't, just that the metal bender had sensed his heart stop for that period of time. Charles stared, astonished at the squirming and mewling creature in his arms. Another human being, which he had to stop and realize was alive and very real. Another entire person, though much smaller, who would grow into someone Charles could not possibly begin to imagine.

His son was beautiful.


	9. My Boy

_Wow, I didn't expect this much of a delay for part 2, but apparently my muse had other plans. I did start on three new fics, and completely write two others, though, so I don't think I've been unproductive. Anyhow, I'm excited to get the ball rolling on this fic, because it's going to get intense once we hit 1983. As of right now, it has skipped four years in the future, so it is now 1981. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_From the mountain to the air  
From samaritan to sin  
_– _Thirteen Senses_

Part II

Morning

Balancing David in his lap, Charles leaned forward to capture Erik's queen, the metal bender shooting him a glare as he tried to appease the girl eagerly chattering to him and shoving a drawing in his face.

"Yes, schatzi, it's excellent."

"You're not looking!"

Chuckling, the telepath watched as Erik sighed and pulled Lorna into his lap. "I see you've taken an artistic license with the representation of dinosaurs."

"Noooo, I didn't," Lorna protested. "Some of the parasaurolophuses were purple."

"Were they now?" Erik raised an eyebrow. "Very interesting."

Before Charles could stop him, the small boy in his grasp reached out and snatched up a black rook his father had captured from Erik. Shaking it in his small fist, he shrieked happily, the shrillness of it making the present adults wince.

"He might be your son after all," Erik teased. "A chess prodigy in the making."

The telepath smiled. "Perhaps. For now, I have to keep him from eating the pieces. David, let go, darling," Charles urged, prying the rook out of David's hand and mouth. "Thank you… for drooling up my rook." Wiping it off on his trousers, Charles shifted his son and pressed a small kiss to his head.

"Can I go eat cookie dough?" Lorna asked, tugging on Erik's turtleneck sleeve.

"I suppose. Just don't make yourself sick."

"I won't!" The girl called over her shoulder, already racing through the doorway and down the hall.

"She's a mess," Erik muttered, though entirely fondly, judging by the small smile on his face.

"So is Peter," Charles added. "And mine."

"Definitely yours as well." Erik held up a knight, David watching it like a hawk as Erik moved it back and forth for a moment, observing the way the boy's eyes tracked it intensely. "You move these on a board. You don't eat them."

A high pitched whining noise emitted from David's throat as he buried his face in Charles's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I can't understand when you whine," Charles scolded the boy, leaning forward to move a pawn.

"Puzzle," David whined.

"Later. You told me you'd be quiet while I played chess."

David squirmed, finally sliding out of Charles's lap. "Puzzle," he repeated.

"Why don't you go pick one, and we'll put it together in a few minutes?"

The toddler ran off to a corner of the library, busying himself with the task of picking the perfect jigsaw puzzle.

Erik met Charles's eyes, and he spoke quietly, out of David's hearing. "When are you taking him?"

The telepath grimaced, sitting back in his chair and swallowing. "Um…" Shaking his head to clear it, he managed to gather words together without choking on them. "Tomorrow."

Erik's brow furrowed. "Tomorrow?"

"We moved it up," Charles replied softly, casting a glance back at David, who was picking through the various decorated boxes of puzzles. His worry was almost palpable, a constant figure in his life since David had been conceived. It had lessened a bit after David had been released from NICU at the hospital, though it had come back full force in the early days of caring for his newborn son. Despite all the reassurances that David constantly needing things and crying nearly always was normal, Charles's anxiety had spiked to alarming rates. He was always on edge, though he managed to shut himself down when he taught the students and when he interacted with David.

It had been four years, and Erik was certain that with all the worrying, Charles had more than one ulcer lining his stomach. The telepath loved David, but that love was making him dread life rather than enjoy it. Gabrielle had done her best to get Charles to calm down, telling him repeatedly that David was fine. She hadn't been able to handle much more of his anxiety, and had thrown herself into work. She didn't want to. Erik could sense that much, at least. She loved her son and her husband, but Charles was wearing everyone thin these days, and David was a sweet boy, but also… dependent. Extremely so.

He screamed and cried for an hour or two after his mother or father left him to go somewhere. He screamed for a shorter time when his father went to educate his students, but the separation anxiety caused him enormous amounts of grief. Charles couldn't, in any logical or practical way, take David to class with him, yet the telepath was constantly upset at being apart from his son. The memory of his father dying when he was so young still remained horridly fresh in his mind, and Charles had no desire to leave David alone. The situations were different as night and day, but Charles still worried. Where he'd been left with no one to care about him, David still had a large, dysfunctional, loving family of mutants to look after him. Specifically, Charles had entrusted Erik with the future of his son if it came to that.

"Charles," Erik growled, the telepath having lost himself in thought again as sweat gathered on his forehead.

The younger man shook himself, blinking dazedly as he took a few deep breaths. "Sorry."

"Your blood pressure is too high."

"Isn't it always?"

"Because you worry for no valid reason."

Charles's glare was unexpected, but it was more relieving than anything. It meant he could process anything besides anxiety. "I worry because my son is not-" He broke off, leaning on the chair's arm and putting a hand to his mouth.

"Daddy." A small voice came from his left, and Charles turned his head to smile tiredly at the boy.

"Did you find a puzzle?"

David nodded.

Charles flicked his king over. "Well, come on, then. Let's go see if Ororo would like to join us." Moving his chair backward, Charles changed direction and moved out of the door, David following with the puzzle grasped tightly in his hands.

* * *

Ororo had arrived at the school last year. Charles and Erik had gone to investigate the very odd weather that had been originating in Cairo, taking little Scott along so he could gain experience in looking into these things.

She'd been stealing food to survive, causing dust and rain storms to wreak havoc on the streets of Cairo to drive people from their stalls. Keeping the eye of the storm where she was, Ororo had picked through carts, stalls, cafes, and even thrown rocks through the windows of shops so she could climb inside and steal food there. Charles had set a sort of trap to catch the young girl, sitting with his companions at an outdoor cafe. She'd tried to pickpocket him, and he'd frozen everyone in order to speak with her. Erik had lifted up a table and chairs to demonstrate his own mutation, and Ororo had rather bravely stared them down to question them extensively.

In the end, she'd been reluctantly convinced to join them in returning to Haifa, and the summers had returned to their normal temperatures, no more snow to be found in July. Much to the students' disappointment, as they'd been enjoying Christmas in July.

Charles had bonded with the young girl, as had Erik, and they considered her their shared daughter. Legally, the telepath had filed paperwork to adopt Ororo after obtaining her consent. She was quiet, perfectly alright to sit and read for hours without making a sound. She and Scott formed a tight friendship stemming from their quiet natures, which warmed Charles's heart. Scott had been an odd man out for a long time, many of the students loud or becoming loud. They were kind to Scott, and he to them, but he'd not really grown close to anyone. Then Ororo had come along, and they were inseparable.

Except, of course, the times when Charles wanted to spend time with his daughter. She was always eager to be near him, listening to him talk about philosophy or genetics. He had half a thought that he should feel guilty not teaching her other things, but Ororo was enthralled with whatever spiel he went off on regarding the nature of life, be it psychological or scientific, so he didn't stop discussing it.

"Ororo," he called, the white haired girl appearing in a doorway. "Would you like to help with a jigsaw?"

"Sure," she agreed easily, following him to the dining room table. Clanging and talkative voices came from the kitchen next door, and David visibly winced as he clambered up into a chair, perched on his knees and leaning on the table. Ororo assumed the same position, taking the lid off the box and setting it to the side, Charles dumping out the pieces.

Ororo looked up at Charles, amusement in her eyes. "The Muppets on a roller coaster?"

"David picked it out, not I," Charles replied with a chuckle.

"Hey, Professor."

Charles looked up to who had greeted him, smiling. "Hello, Rahne."

"Do you guys want cookies?" The girl inquired, gesturing at the kitchen behind her with the pancake turner in her hand.

"That sounds wonderful-yes, please." David scrambled out of his chair and darted past Rahne into the kitchen, Charles chuckling as he returned with a cookie half stuffed into his mouth with one in each hand. "Darling, I suppose you're going to eat a lot of nutritious food at dinner to make up for all that sugar?"

The boy's face soured almost instantly, and he began to turn away to return the cookies until Ororo beckoned him over. "If you give me one, you don't have to eat green stuff." Reluctantly, though seeing the logic, David handed over a cookie. "Thanks, Dave."

"David," the small child corrected immediately. "After the star of David."

Ororo feigned a befuddled expression. "You sure? You look like a Dave to me."

David shook his head steadfastly. "It's _David_, I'm sure."

"Alright, alright. Can I call you Dave as a nickname?"

"Nope," he replied, climbing back into his chair and stuffing the second cookie in his mouth.

* * *

"David, come on, let's get out of the bath. You're getting wrinkly." Charles leaned over the side of his chair, gripping David's arm as he stepped out of the tub. Rubbing the towel vigorously over his soft hair, the telepath kissed David's forehead. "Now you're clean and not a human rainbow."

The boy smiled shyly as Charles wrapped a towel around him and tugged him into his lap. David had decided to unleash his inner artist earlier that evening, with Lorna's help, and colored him with many markers. His entire face and neck had been covered in marker, all except his eyelids and mouth. He and Lorna had been proud of themselves, eagerly showing off David to the residents of the house. Though Erik and Charles had attempted to seem irritated, it was more hilarious than anything. All it deserved was a long discussion of how it maybe wasn't the best idea to color on other people, and maybe we should use paper next time, yes?

Lorna had fussed about her creativity being stifled, and Erik chuckled as he told her to save the hippie speeches for school. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, the man had informed her that she could be freely creative all she wanted at school, so long as she followed Vater's rules at home. She'd sighed and said "Well, I suppose I could," in a way that was far too precocious for her age to be anything but amusing, and run off to insist the older children draw on the driveway with chalk. Between Terry, Scott, and Ororo, Charles had to admit there were quite a few masterpieces that came out of their heads onto the cement drive in pastel chalkiness.

A loud ring of the phone on the nightstand made David jump, grabbing onto Charles with a painful, clinging grip as the boy trembled. "Sh, it's alright, it's just the phone," the telepath soothed in a gentle voice, moving to the phone and picking it up from the cradle to cease the ringing and calm David. "Xavier residence."

"_Charles,"_ the voice on the other end sounded relieved, and the man relaxed into his seat, rubbing David's back.

"Gabrielle," he breathed, smiling. "What were you calling for? You normally don't the night you're coming… back…" Charles trailed off, blinking as he attempted to stay calm. "You are… coming home tonight, right?"

The lengthy pause did nothing to ease his fears. "_The meeting didn't go as hoped today. The Palestinian government is suddenly uncooperative. I have to stay for another week."_

"But… I…"

"Mama?" David asked, tugging on Charles's cardigan for confirmation as his eyes darted between his father and the phone.

Shifting the boy in his lap, Charles tried to soothe himself. "You said you'd be here," he reminded her lamely.

"_I know."_

It wasn't fair of him to be upset. It was through his own insistence the appointment at the psychologist for David be moved up. Gabrielle was continually busy with international affairs, doing so much good in the world and easing the tense relations between Israel and other nations. He hadn't a justification to be angry with her. But, at the very basis, he was only human.

"You _promised_ you'd be here," he reiterated, ignoring David's tugging on his sweater.

"_I told you I would be there for the original appointment before it moved."_

"No, you told me you'd be here for this one."

"_Charles, it can't be helped. You spend more time with him, so wouldn't it be more logical for you to be there to tell the doctor what you know about David's habits?"_

"I…" Charles's voice grew small as he swallowed. "I told David you'd be here."

"_You did what?"_

Swallowing again, he pried David's hand off his cardigan. "I know I shouldn't have-"

"_You're correct,"_ Gabrielle's voice was short now, spreading more guilt within Charles.

"What am I supposed to tell him now?"

"_Bribe him with a treat so he forgets I'm not there."_

Their vision as parents had morphed into something ugly over the years. When David had been born, they'd been sure of the gift and discipline system. If he whined, he wouldn't get anything. If he made bad choices, he'd be disciplined. If he made good choices, he'd be praised for it so he'd learn to repeat the good behavior. Now, though… if David threw a fit, they coddled him until he stopped crying. If something didn't happen at the time he'd been promised, they'd give him a treat to distract him, and repeat the coddling if he pitched a fit. Unlike how they'd planned to ignore David if he whined, they now scolded him or gave him attention so he'd stop. David had come to expect a treat or a gift whenever they went out, because though they'd plan to cut out any manipulative behavior, it hadn't worked out that way. Part of the time, he threw a fit to get what he desired. Charles, however, knew David didn't have control all the time. He threw himself down to cry when he was frustrated, usually with himself or someone who didn't understand him, or when he was truly upset things hadn't gone as expected. Surprises made him inconsolable, and Charles couldn't exactly blame him. Children didn't like having their schedules thrown off, which was normal, yet David's reactions were magnified compared to Lorna's. She'd been a little put off, but Erik had cajoled her to learn how to deal with the unexpected, and she rolled with the punches now.

David couldn't handle it, and would end up screaming and beating his fists on the floor, even lashing out and hitting other people. When he was told his mother would be home at this time or his father would be done with class at this time, he expected it, come hell or high water. If they didn't make that time, David would be extremely distraught, panicked that things weren't as he'd been promised. His mind would swirl into an angry beehive, the panic overwhelming the small boy until he couldn't keep it in his own head anymore and he screamed and cried to try to relieve the wild anxiety running rampant in his mind. Charles despised it, but had been forced to shut David's consciousness down for a brief time to put his distressed mind back into proper order and let him sleep it off. He always woke much cheerier and happy to cuddle and be perfectly sweet and calm. Yet it had always left Charles with a bad taste in his mouth, knowing this wasn't the norm. Oh, sure, there was abnormal in a good sense. Mutants being a prime example, or a child prodigy, or exceptional artistic talent. This just seemed… wrong.

"Gabrielle," he sighed, adjusting the phone against his ear. "I…" Shaking his head, he sighed again. "Do you want to talk to him?"

"_Of course."_

Pulling the receiver away from him, Charles turned to David sitting in his lap. "Do you want to talk to Mummy?"

"Uh-huh." David nodded, grabbing at the phone and pulling it to him. "Hi, Mama."

"_Hello, lovey. I miss you so much. What did you do today?"_

"Luna colored my face."

Charles couldn't help his chuckle. David had called the little girl "Luna" since he'd learned to talk, much to her frustration. She'd finally given up and let him mispronounce her name, and in exchange, she was allowed free reign to drag him along on her adventures. They'd been exploring Australia in the backyard the day before, though it had ended abruptly when David had come screaming that there was a snake outside. Erik had run outside to find Lorna had climbed the tree and was grabbing the nuts off the branches to pelt at the ground where she swore the snake had been. Ororo had found it moving among the grass and smacked it flat as roadkill with a shovel. As a result, Ororo had been declared Lorna's hero and had the smaller girl following her around like a puppy the rest of the day.

"_Really? Did you wash it off?"_

"Yeah, Dada washed my face."

"_What else did you do? Anymore excitement?"_

"Uh… um… I did a puzzle."

"_Wow, that's wonderful. Are you going to bed now?"_

"I'm not tired," David protested, as any child did every single bedtime.

Gabrielle laughed a little. "_You need sleep so you can have more adventures tomorrow and keep up with Lorna. I'll see you soon, alright? Good night, David. I love you."_

"Love you too," he echoed, giving the receiver quickly back to his father.

"_I love you, Charles."_

Closing his eyes, smiling as he remembered when they'd all been together when David had been a tiny baby, and dreaming of a future soon where they'd be united once more, Charles replied in with equal love in his voice. "I love you too. Good night."

"_Good night."_


	10. Catching Up

_Thank you a ton to NotMarge for reviewing! I thought I'd give you all a change of scenery to let you catch up with the rest of the school. I'd like to take this quick minute to announce my other tie-in to this fic, "Psalm 139," which details David's reflection on the past. It does have spoilers for this fic, just a warning.  
_

* * *

_I smile up to the sky and know I'll be alright.  
_– _Natasha Bedingfield_

"David, sit still," Charles urged.

"Puzzle," the boy insisted again.

"Darling, I don't have any puzzles, I'm sorry. We'll do several when we get home."

David frowned, brow wrinkling as his whole face became a singular expression of disappointment. He began to slide out of his father's lap, but Charles tugged him back and tightened his grip around the boy's torso.

"No, none of that. Not now."

The abrupt, high-pitched whine threw him off, and Charles internally moaned.

"David, not now, please."

_He doesn't mean it personally,_ a voice murmured, a voice he recognized as Francis.

_I know he doesn't. It's just frustrating._

_Sure it is, but lay off the damn kid, will you?_ Onslaught sidled up. _He tries. Not his fault you and Gabrielle are terrible at parenting._

_If you're going to be that way, I'll shove you back into your cage._

Onslaught hissed, slinking back into the shadows. Francis sighed.

_He has a point, much as I'm loathe to admit. You both didn't exactly nip in the bud all of David's bad habits._

_I refuse to lay a hand against him._

_You don't have to. Just tell him not to do these things. Like manipulate you into giving him what he wants so he doesn't cry._

_What gives you the right-_

_You know I'm correct, Charles._

He surfaced into the physical world once more, though not of his own volition. No, yanked back from his mind by a hand hitting him in the face.

Charles blinked, unsure if it really had happened or if he was imagining things. When the small hand flew up again, he grabbed it, a little roughly, and settled a hardened gaze on his son. "David Charles Xavier, that is not acceptable behavior. You do _not_ hit people."

David's other hand slapped him hard on the cheek before he could react, leaving him gaping as much as the others in the waiting room.

_God, grant me patience,_ Charles closed his eyes for a moment as he grasped David's wrists, trying to quell the rising anger in him. _David doesn't do this to be personal. This is why you've brought him to a doctor. Stay calm, don't smack him back. He isn't Erik, you can't punch him to make yourself feel better. You will not become your mother._

"David, do not be violent toward me again. That is not acceptable, and I will take away your toys if you do it one more time."

"Noooo!" David screamed, tears welling in his eyes as his face reddened. "No, no, no!"

"David, hush," Charles near-snapped, cursing himself and making great effort to keep his voice even. "Enough of that. You will not throw a fit, or there will be consequences. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," David sobbed, nodding his head as tears streamed down his face. He tried to tug his hand out of his father's grasp, and Charles let go, the small hand desperately wiping at his face. "I'm sorry, Dada. I'm sorry. Please don't take my toys, Dada, please."

Charles held David to him, rubbing a soothing hand along his side and keeping the other against David's head. "Sh. Calm down, David. It's alright. No need to be upset. If you make good choices, then I won't need to take anything away. Right?"

"Yes," he whimpered, rubbing at his eyes.

"Sh, sh, you're fine. No need to cry." Charles pressed a kiss to the soft brown hair.

"Xavier!" A nurse called as a door opened, and Charles sighed softly as he pushed the joystick forward and moved through the door. Hoping desperately this would solve everything he knew was wrong in his son.

* * *

"Alexander, do you hate me?"

The blond laughed. "Nah, I just like watching you squirm."

The brunet next to her leaned down to murmur in her ear, a breathy laugh tickling the small hairs there. "Almost as much as he enjoys watching Erik squirm."

She laughed then, stifling it behind her hand as she grinned. "Anyone would enjoy that."

Hank leaned away, smiling goofily before ordering a chocolate vanilla swirl. Terry gladly requested chocolate almond, and licked happily at hers.

"Marion, I can't believe you don't like ice cream," the redhead said.

"Well, when one is forced to work at a Baskin Robbins when one is home from Dartmouth, then has to go back to working there even though one has a doctorate, one tends to have a hatred for ice cream equivalent to the fire of a thousand suns."

"I love you," Hank suddenly told her, then promptly turned crimson when he realized he'd blurted that out in the middle of an ice cream parlor with Alex and Terry right there. They both became consumed with laughter, Hank groaning and busying himself eating his ice cream in a futile distraction.

Marion hooked her arm with his and nudged him good naturedly. "You're very sweet, Henry. If it consoles you any, I love you too."

That goofy grin returned, previous embarrassment forgotten. "You do?"

"Of course. Who else can I properly be a nerd with? Sorry, but Charles doesn't cut it."

Hank smiled wider. "I'm touched."

She winked at him, earning a gagging noise from Terry.

"Go do that crap somewhere else," the girl complained.

Hank glared at Alex. "Stop being a negative influence."

He shrugged. "Not my fault. Maybe if you spent less time eyefucking your girlfriend, you could be a better influence on the rugrat."

"_Alex_," Hank hissed, "Language!"

When the blond waved him off, he received a smack on the shoulder. "Ow, dammit!"

"Talk shit, get hit," Terry giggled.

"Oh, shut up," Alex mumbled, rubbing his shoulder and halfheartedly licking his ice cream.

Walking down the sidewalk, Hank sighed. "Why am I always the responsible one?"

"Because you don't know _how_ to have fun."

The man groaned. "I do. Really!" He insisted as Alex and Terry snorted in unison.

"Don't worry, Henry. You don't need to have fun by getting tanked and partying." Marion grimaced. "And despite it making me sound like a stereotype, I think math and science are far better than that."

"Math for fun. Hank, are you sure you aren't Asian?"

This time, the smack came from Marion.

"Can people please stop hitting me?"

"Until you cut the ignorance, no," Marion snapped.

"Why is it okay for you to use stereotypes, but not me?"

"Because I'm not being derogatory, for one. For two, I'm not white."

"Yeah, yeah," Alex muttered. "I guess so long as you're not trying to set off a bomb when I'm trying to help you, then you're alright."

Marion rolled her eyes. "I don't have the energy or desire to deal with you and your issues. Go take Terry to the electronics store. We'll meet in front of the ice cream place in an hour." With that, she turned away, pulling Hank along the street and walking swiftly to work off the frustration.

"Good thing I'm fast," Hank observed as he easily kept up with Marion, still working on his ice cream. "You're sure you wouldn't care for a bite?"

She sighed. "Yes, I'm sure." Stopping at the corner and smacking the button for the crosswalk, she crossed her arms. "Sorry, I'm just…"

"A short adjective for wanting to beat Alex to a pulp?" He gave a small smile. "Believe me, I understand the feeling."

Crossing the large white rectangles to the other side, they continued past shops and people. "Vietnam doesn't excuse his being asinine."

"No, it doesn't." Hank shrugged helplessly, sighing. "I know I don't exactly help. I try to give him a break."

"Because of Sean?"

He nodded in affirmation.

"You're a good friend, Henry."

Hank smiled again. "Thank you. I do my best."

"I suppose I'll play the role of raging in-law 'bitch,' then." A small smile played on her lips. "Suits me, no?"

He couldn't help but smile wider. "Oh, I couldn't possibly see you as such."

She lightly shoved at his arm. "Big sap."

Hank chuckled. "That is 'big _furry_ sap,' thank you very much."

"Excuse me. I'd forgotten for a moment I was in a relationship with Cookie Monster."

"Who lives with two people who might as well be Bert and Ernie."

Marion laughed. "Among other weird people."

"Tom and Jerry," Hank added, referencing Logan and Peter.

"Hm," she brainstormed. "Mystery Inc," she suggested, knowing the older children might as well have been out of Scooby Doo. Doug was danger prone, Scott was the analyst, Ororo was the bold leader, Terry was motivated by food, and… well, Rahne could morph into a wolf.

"Am I the only one thinking Lorna and David are Daffy and Bugs?"

They both laughed. "I was thinking the same… so if you're Cookie Monster, what does that make me?"

"Deena?"

"Pfft. I suppose that will be as good as it gets for me."

"Well, it's either her, or one of Count von Count's girlfriends."

Marion laughed. "No, thanks. I'll stick with third person monster speak."

Hank crumpled up the napkin from around his cone. "Figured as much. So… I have a question."

"Yes?"

"A hypothetical, if you will."

"Henry, get on with it."

Clearing his throat, he tugged at his sweater vest and shirt collar, as though they were suddenly too tight. "How, exactly, would your father react to me asking for permission to…"

"Marry me?" At Hank's nod, she continued. "I believe, as a protective father, he would throw you out a window. As a logical man, however, he would agree to your request."

"It's entirely dependent on his mood, then?"

"No, both will happen. One after the other."

Hank gulped, earning a laugh from Marion.

* * *

"Hi, Logan."

"Hey, kid."

It still unnerved the hell out of him that Scott, resident dick of the school, was not only a child, but a quiet, sweet one at that. He was shy, but always happy to talk to newcomers at the school so they'd feel more comfortable.

The story of Charles and Erik finding Scott raised new questions, questions Logan wasn't sure he was comfortable trying to answer. Questions like "Should I have been such a dick to Scott?"

That had been one he'd asked himself since they found his glasses at Alkali Lake. Logan was many things, but not a total asshole. He cared about people, much as he tried to give off the impression he didn't. He and Erik were the same in that way, which only served to creep him out.

Another question raised by Scott's upbringing was, "Did he have the same past when I knew him?"

The answer was "yes," after consulting with the Beast, that Scott's past was an unchanged event. Which made Logan feel like a dick.

Then again… Hank had given him some strangely sage advice.

"_I know the feeling you have. Thinking that, 'wow, this person had a terrible past. I shouldn't treat them so badly.'" Hank shook his head and leaned into the microscope. "It doesn't work that way in life. Just because someone's father was an alcoholic and abusive, doesn't give them the right to go rob a bank or kill other people."_

"_What are you getting at?"_

_Hank waved a hand in front of his face to dispel the smoke in the air from Logan's cigar. "Erik lived through one of the most horrific events in history. That doesn't give him an excuse to be a raging-for lack of a better word-asshole. Scott being treated poorly by his parents doesn't give him that excuse either." He smiled a little. "If it did, don't you think I'd be taking full advantage and going around bullying people to feel better about my childhood?"_

Well… at least in this new timeline-he still hadn't gotten used to that, after living in it for eight years-he'd be a little nicer to Scott. He was only a kid now. If he turned out to be a dick when he grew up, though, then it was fair game for Logan to be an asshole right back to him. For now, he'd rack up a few good karma points.

"Why do you smoke?"

"Coulda sworn I explained it already."

"It's bad for your health."

"For everyone else. My lungs heal."

"Oh… right." Scott pushed his glasses up, though they couldn't go any farther, as a nervous habit, and sat down on the step. "The Professor doesn't like you smoking in the house, huh?"

"Hey, not everyone else can heal." Logan shrugged. "Guess I'd feel kinda bad if someone else got sick 'cause I needed a smoke."

Scott smiled. "That would be bad. It's good you're being conscious of those around you."

"Where's the others you hang around with?"

"Ororo's in class. Terry's practicing her violin. Um… Doug is at school. Rahne is hiding out in the attic smoking, and she thinks the Professor doesn't know."

Logan laughed a little. "He's like God or something. Knows everything that goes on."

"And Betsy is at school too."

"So I'm your last resort."

"No!" Scott seemed embarrassed. "No, not at all. I just-"

"Relax. I don't like you anyway."

"I can leave," the boy offered.

"You're already here. Might as well stick around."

Their silence was comfortable and blissful, until Scott broke it. "Hey, Logan?"

"What?"

"What… um… what do you do when you… like a girl?"

"Shit, Scott, go ask the Professor. I'm not giving you advice on that."

* * *

"What do you want for your birthday?"

"Me?" Lorna asked, young mind automatically thinking of herself as children did.

"No, Peter."

The silver haired boy-he'd always be a little boy to Erik-shrugged. "I don't know."

"Still depressed about Pink Floyd?"

"What else?" Peter sighed glumly, and Erik repressed a sigh. He had to feign interest in what his son loved, even if he found it trivial. A member had left Pink Floyd two years before, and Peter had spent all this time moping about it. Erik had tried to cheer him up by reminding Peter that the band still existed. No such luck.

"Lorna, come back here!" Erik called to the little girl, who had skipped ahead of them on the beach. She dutifully ran back, grasping her father's fingers, as her hands still weren't big enough to grasp his. It brought back fond memories of when she'd been a tiny three year old.

"I dunno. I already basically have the stuff I want. I guess… cash?"

"But you don't deal in the currency of mortal, normal speed beings," Erik teased.

Peter grinned. "Because I'm better than that. I dunno, you're an artist, right? Make me something."

"Like what?"

"I dunno, man. Something badass."

Erik rolled his eyes. "I'll do my best. And if you don't like it, then you can shove it."

Peter laughed. "You're the best old man a kid could ask for."

"I'm glad you find me so wonderful," Erik replied sarcastically, suppressing the ridiculous amounts of love and affection he felt. He was Erik Lehnsherr. Not a puppy.

"Do you feel bad for leaving Shiro and Cecilia to fend for themselves with so many mutants to teach?"

"Not at all."

Peter laughed again.


	11. Discipline

_Thank you to NotMarge for reviewing! Sorry, this is more boring exposition, but we'll get to some fun pretty soon, I swear. On the last chapter with Alex's racist comments: I find it extremely difficult to believe that, in fics, no one ever says a word about the fact that Darwin and Angel are black surrounded by a bunch of white people, or any other similar situation. It's the 60s, guys. C'mon. The X-Men may have been discriminated against, but even those discriminated against in society still do the same to others. Especially Charles, being raised in a rich white household, regardless of his enlightened attitude toward people. Erik and Moira really would be the only ones who wouldn't care about race/etc. Moira's done with white men, and Erik's done with everyone. About a 1000% done._

* * *

That's why, darling, it's incredible  
That someone so unforgettable can think  
Someone like me is unforgettable too.  
– Nat "King" Cole

"You do realize it's unhealthy for him to sleep in your bed every night."

Charles sighed and cast a glare at his friend. "Are you going to continue criticizing my parenting?"

"I'll see you in the study," Erik replied, leaving the room.

Shaking his head, Charles let David crawl onto the bed. "I think tonight's bedtime story will be about Captain James Tiberius Kirk and Mr. Spock's adventures on the Starship Enterprise. Once, they had to go to Klingon space, and-" The phone ringing cut him off, David whining in protest. Charles patted his son's leg. "One second." Picking up the receiver, Charles rattled off his usual greeting. "Hello?" He prompted at the silence on the other end.

"_... Charles?"_

The plastic and metal receiver slipped from his hand, clanging on the arm of his chair as he gazed off at the wall, eyes unfocused. _Raven._ Scrambling, he picked up the phone again. "Raven," he breathed, hardly daring to believe it was her. Surely this was true and not a cruel joke. It had to be. He'd hoped and dreamed for nearly ten years that he would see her again. She hadn't wanted to be seen, clearly, but Charles could still hope, couldn't he?

"_Hey."_

"Hey," he replied, grinning.

"_How have things been?"_

"They've been wonderful. And yourself?" He waited, holding his breath and praying her life had been peaceful.

"_Fine."_ They sat in silence for several moments before she spoke again. "_So, um… are you taking any new students?"_

"Always."

"_Good. I'll… um…"_

"You could bring them here," Charles offered.

"_Not with the metal dickbag there."_

He couldn't resist chuckling. "He's changed, but I see your view. Would you like me to meet you somewhere?"

"_I'll just put them on a plane to there."_

"Oh." Charles couldn't completely disguise the disappointment in his voice, though he did his best. "Well… will you call again, sometime? Just for a little chat when you want to listen to your old man of a brother?" He teased, trying not to get his hopes up, but unable to resist.

"_... Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that sometime."_

"Excellent. I look forward to hearing from you."

"_Me too. Hey, um…" _Raven hesitated. "_Congratulations, by the way."_

"For what?"

"_Your son."_

"Oh." Charles blinked, then smiled. "Thank you. He's a handful, but I love him to pieces."

She couldn't help the small chuckle. "_Of course you do. You like children too much for your own good." _A fond, nostalgic smile crossed her face. "_You always did."_

"Raven?"

"_Yeah?"_

"I… do you think… meeting him might be a possibility someday?"

"_I… I don't know…"_

"Don't feel obligated," he added hurriedly. "It was just a random thought."

"_What's your wife like? Is she good to you?"_

"She's… She's lovely. She's loving and generous and perfectly accepting of all of us."

"_Good." _Another long pause, then the words he'd been dreading. "_I have to go."_

"Of course. You'll call again?"

"_Yeah."_

"Alright. Goodbye, Raven. I-" The click on the other end left him feeling relieved, yet saddened. "-Love you." Sighing, he set the phone into its cradle, looking over to the bed. "Alright, David, now-" Charles's eyes darted around the room. "David? David, where are you?" He cast out mental pings, moaning when he found his son had run off to the kitchen, where the adults were playing poker.

* * *

"Kleiner, why are you up?"

David looked at his feet, lip wobbling. "I'm not tired."

"You need rest every night. Staying up will ensure you don't have energy to play tomorrow."

David whined as Erik gently took his hand. "No, I don't want to sleep!"

"I don't care. You're going to bed."

The guttural, demonic screeching certainly hadn't been what Erik expected. Definitely not the fine point pressure on his hand from teeth digging into the skin.

"Erik, wait!" Charles's voice cried out, panicked as he rounded the corner.

His hand smacked the back of David's leg regardless, startling the boy into wide eyed silence as he stared, open mouthed, at the tall man looking down at him.

"Listen to me," Erik knelt down in front of him. "You may be allowed to pull that with your parents, but you are not allowed to with me. Do you understand?" David remained silent, shocked he'd been touched at all. "You do not bite me. That is not acceptable behavior, and a very poor choice to make."

He'd never had a biting issue with Lorna. She never thought to bite anyone, even when Peter pinned her down and she giggled madly while he tickled her. She didn't scratch or scream when she was taken back to bed or Erik guided her out of the room. But Erik did know how to deal with violent people, and merely rationalized how to apply discipline to violent children. Heaven knew if he didn't, Charles never would. His fear of becoming abusive had kept him from laying a hand on David, and though talking was all fine and good, sometimes children needed a tiny physical reminder of who was the boss.

"Why did you bite me?"

David's eyes gathered tears, and Erik shook his head.

"No, there is no reason to cry. I asked you a simple question. Why did you bite me?"

The boy sniffed, wiping at his face as his nose reddened. "I'm not tired."

"So you thought it was acceptable to bite me for making you go to bed?"

David gave into his tears, sobbing as he threw himself down and cried.

"Stop," Erik said firmly, pulling David up to his feet even as the boy resisted. "There is no need to cry just because I tell you not to bite someone. Enough, David," Erik reiterated.

"Stop it!" David sobbed, trying to yank away from Erik. "Go away!"

Erik raised his hand as a warning, David shutting his mouth abruptly and staring at him with wary eyes.

"Please don't hit me. Please don't hit me," David whimpered.

"I won't hit you if you listen." The small boy nodded, tears still falling down his cheeks. "Your father is tired. He needs you to go to bed so he can go to bed. Throwing a fit and biting me is not acceptable, especially because you're already being disobedient." Pulling David to his feet, Erik looked down. "Now, are you going to make a good choice and go to bed?"

He nodded meekly, not daring to meet Erik's eyes.

"Good. Go with your father back to bed and go to sleep."

David ran to his father, climbing into his lap and burying his face into Charles's sweater. The telepath sighed and turned around to go back upstairs, a thought brewing in his mind as he went.

* * *

"I don't appreciate you hitting my son," Charles said by way of greeting as he rolled through the study door.

Erik cast him a disbelieving look. "And what do you plan to do when he's a grown man still hitting his parents and manipulating you to get what he wants?"

"When have I ever told you it was fine to smack him?" Charles snapped, stopping on the other side of the chess board and glaring at his friend.

The older man leaned back, unperturbed. "I don't ask for permission, I ask for forgiveness. He needs to know who is in charge."

Charles's fingers clenched around the armrests of his chair, nostrils flaring as he tried to relax his breathing. Flashes of his childhood had been echoing in his head since Erik's hand made contact with David's leg in the hall, and they had grown worse from their argument.

"_I told you to go to bed!" Sharon snarled, drawing her hand back and slapping the small boy across the face._

_He fell to the floor, letting out a sob as his hand flew to his reddened cheek and broken skin from his mother's rings._

"_You!" Sharon snapped, pointing at one of the maids. "Take him to his room and make sure he stays there!"_

Shaking himself out of the depths of his thoughts, Charles put a hand to his mouth. Allowing several calming breaths, the telepath looked up at his friend. "I can't… touch him."

"You do realize," Erik began as he leaned forward, "discipline and abuse are different."

"I never understood how you could bear to smack Lorna when she was being bad," Charles admitted quietly.

The metal bender shook his head. "She wasn't being bad, Charles. David wasn't being bad. They both made poor choices."

Charles shrugged helplessly. "I'm afraid I don't understand the difference."

"You're all about believing the best in people, yes?" At Charles's nod, Erik continued. "David isn't being bad. Children do not act badly. He simply makes bad choices, which do not lead to consequences for him, so he repeats the poor decisions."

"I can't lay a hand against him, Erik. I've tried a few times, and…" He shuddered. "Other times, I've almost lost my temper and come within an inch of hitting him… hard."

"Step away from him until you calm down."

"How…?"

He shrugged easily. "You enjoy being around Lorna because she behaves. This is how I trained her to behave." Erik smiled a little. "Believe me, I've wanted to throttle her on more than one occasion. Losing my temper and thinking of beating my own child frightened me more than anything." The older man sighed and took a drink from his glass. "I refused to beat her. It's… ridiculous to have that reaction, because…" Erik swallowed. "It's the same I have towards a human shunning a mutant."

Charles rested his chin in his hand, leaning forward to gaze at the chessboard. "You have your own demons still, my friend." Erik's nod escaped his field of vision, but he knew it to be there all the same. "I suppose I'd deluded myself into thinking you didn't. That you were… better than I, and trying to lord it over me after all these years of me doing it to you."

Erik chuckled. "Much as everyone might think, I don't seek revenge against you. I never have. Aside from that, it would be rather low to use your own demons against you."

"Not even…" The telepath closed his eyes. "Even after I hid for so many years?"

A hand grasped his, squeezing it briefly before pulling away. "I would have loved to throttle you, yes. I was angry with you beyond words. Yet I never sought revenge."

Charles chuckled ruefully, heart aching as he recalled his time spent in his own hell, along with the knowledge crudely dropped on him that Erik never deserved to rot in prison for nearly ten years. He'd been selfishly wallowing, much as he tried to justify it to himself. There was no justification, he knew it now. And Erik… he'd only tried to do what was right. How could Charles crucify him for that? The only hand he'd had in the tragic assassination was attempting to stop it and save the president. For all Erik's faults, Charles liked to believe his friend would still have tried to save Kennedy regardless of being a human or mutant. He was a good hearted man, if his affection for those at the school was anything to go off. Erik was troubled by demons which plagued him no matter if he woke or slept. They both needed to be better to each other. It was necessary if they were to remain friends.

Charles moved his chair to be beside Erik's, grasping his forearm. "Erik, I…" He swallowed, breathing out a little shakily. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I know." Erik smiled, grasping Charles's arm in the same way. "We've wasted far too many years fighting one another."

They both chuckled, ignoring the heavy, heart aching emotion behind those words that thickened their throats and left their eyes stinging. They wouldn't admit it to anyone but each other, as being the closest of friends, they could trust the other man wouldn't laugh at the volume of his emotion toward him.

"'It has been my experience that folks who have no vices, have very few virtues,'" Charles quoted, sharing another smile with Erik.

"I suppose I can admit that particular human wasn't all bad."

He couldn't resist a laugh. "Oh, God, we agree on something. The world must be coming to an end."

"Quick, let us argue over something else," Erik suggested, lips quirking up and twinkling in his eye laying his amusement bare. It was a rare sight, reserved for only the most honored people, to see Erik have any emotion aside from negativity. Charles certainly found it an honor.

They sat in comfortable, warming silence for a moment, both men taking pleasure in the other's company before Erik spoke again, still quiet so as not to fully break the silence.

"I do want to help David."

"I know." The younger man looked at his lap, sighing slowly. "I need to get this thing with the doctor sorted out first… and then… then talk to Gabrielle."

Erik met his eyes then. "How did it go today?"

Charles suddenly jerked his arm away. "Fine. I um… I think I should go to bed. Another appointment tomorrow, so I ought to rest."

"Rest is good," Erik replied, Charles grateful he didn't pry. "Guten nacht."

"Good night, my friend."


	12. In-Laws

_Thanks again to NotMarge for reviewing! So after reading the X-Men comic __**God Loves, Man Kills**__, I wanted to include several elements from that, because while the basic plot is in X2, the Purifiers are a different story to be told, and I would love to take advantage of the extremist, discriminatory attitude found among televangelists and the born-again religious fanatics (no, not all religious people are bad. Merely the ones who take it too far). Also, for your reference in informal Japanese: Haha = mother. Chichi = father. Sofu = grandfather. Sobo = grandmother._

* * *

_When there's a burning in your heart,  
An endless yearning in your heart,  
Build it bigger than the sun.  
Let it grow, let it grow.  
– __Death Cab for Cutie_

"Are you sure we can't elope?" Hank whispered nervously as they waited on the Satou porch, fidgeting with the tie he'd tucked into his sweater vest and the watch on his wrist. A Rolex, which Charles had bought for Hank several years ago as a long string of apology gifts to try to make up for the ten years he'd taken care of the telepath. Hank had tried to humbly refuse to accept, but Charles had insisted, so he'd taken the gifts. He had to admit, he now felt better having a Rolex, as it made him seem more established and worthy to marry Marion. Less likely to knock her up and run off whilst dodging child support demands.

"My father will come after you with a shotgun if we do."

"Oh," Hank replied, disappointed as he smoothed down his hair again.

"Relax," Marion told him, greeting her mother as she answered the door. "Haha, you remember Henry McCoy."

"Oh, yes. The tall fellow." Turning back to the house, Rion called out, Marion's father appearing quickly. "Henry McCoy is here. So nervous." Rion laughed. "I think he's here to propose."

Hayato looked unamused, causing Hank to sweat more and pray he didn't start smelling. "Please, come inside. And take your shoes off!"

"Yes, sir," Hank mumbled, toeing off his shoes as quickly as possible and setting them neatly beside the ones at the door. Marion flashed him a grin, though it didn't have the same calming effect it usually did as he stood awkwardly in the entryway. It had been more than a year since he'd seen the Satous, and he was horribly out of practice on what to do.

"Henry," Marion said quietly, taking him by the elbow and dragging him to a sitting room. "Sit in here with my father and grandfather. We'll be busy… making tea." She grimaced before swiftly abandoning him to the sharks.

_Maybe I shouldn't've become an atheist. Then I might have someone who will actually hear my prayers for mercy from Hayato and Kosei… Stars, I hope Kosei is really her grandfather's name. If not, I'm completely screwed._

_What has happened to my vocabulary? I've spent far too much time with Alex…_

The old man, hair white by this point, laughed and pointed to the cushion on the floor. "Sit, McCoy. You may have to crawl on floor to reach." Kosei laughed again.

Hank could feel the warmth from the blood rushing to his face and coloring it an ugly shade of red as he inched his way down to sit cross-legged on the cushion. He considered himself a generally open-minded person, but the cushion thing was what he despised the most. He would declare a war on cushions when he got back to Haifa. A complete blitzkrieg until no cushions were left in the house. Only then could he sleep soundly at night.

"Is my wife correct? You want to marry my daughter?"

Hank cleared his throat, pulling at his collar. "Er, yes, sir. Yes, that's… that is what I'm here to ask your permission about."

Hayato leaned across the corner of the table to Hank. "What makes you think you're good enough for her?"

"Um…" Hank cleared his throat. "Well… I… I really don't know, sir." _Oh, for the love of the universe, McCoy, really? Way to go. Idiot._ "I don't know… that I am good enough, really."

Hayato leaned back, eyeing him with no emotion. Hank was saved from further embarrassing himself when the four women in the house entered the sitting room, bringing tea.

"Sobo," Marion began, "how has your health been?"

"What?" Marion's grandmother, put a hand to her ear, looking at the younger woman for clarification.

"_How_ has your _healthbeen_?" Marion repeated in a louder voice.

"Good. Your grandma not so old you need worry so much," the older woman waved Marion off.

"Erika?" Marion looked to her sister.

"I'm fine."

"Haha?"

"Just fine," Rion replied.

"Sofu?"

Kosei looked up from his tea. "Yes?"

"How is your health?"

"Fine."

"Chichi?"

"Very healthy," Hayato responded, still sipping his tea.

Hank tentatively picked up his cup of tea, taking a sip. He'd practiced the art of hiding his hatred for tea over the years, even in his thoughts, because Charles insisted on tea after afternoon. Thus, Hank had had to learn to grin and bear it, no matter how much the taste revolted him, and steadfastly sang a little tune in his head to not mentally offend Charles. He, unfortunately, didn't have the guts Erik did to blatantly tell Charles that tea was terrible and he'd drink coffee whether the telepath cared or not.

"What do you do for a living, McCoy?" Hayato inquired.

"Er… well, I currently teach high school science at a private school in Israel."

"So your occupation has not changed since we last met."

"No, sir."

"What university did you attend? What is your degree and what level is it?"

Hank internally tried to calm down and not panic. Hayato was logically testing his ability to not freak out, and luckily he'd at least mastered that long ago when he had to go into dangerous field situations regularly. "I have degrees in engineering, physics, and biology in range from bachelor to doctorate, all from Harvard."

"Does your position at the school pay well?"

"Yes, sir," Hank lied. Honestly, he worked for free. Not out of obligation to Charles; not at all, if anything, he'd more than paid off any obligation he felt to the man. No, he merely felt comfortable at the school where he had endless money to use on supplies he could tinker away with on a whim, and where he could transform to a blue cat without anyone glancing his way. Charles had certainly offered salaries to all of them, but they hadn't seen a point. They had no housing expenses, Charles gave them grocery money, they got cash for holidays to use for recreation, and they all had methods of transportation thanks to Charles. It was like living in a hippie commune with a really nice sugar daddy.

"Why do you want to marry her?" Rion asked.

Without stopping to think, Hank blurted out. "Because I've never met anyone so intelligent or amazing."

His face wasn't burning, and he noticed that first. It was a significant detail that was creeping him out. Hank had always, without fail, been able to blush in a second. He was easily embarrassed, to the point he became embarrassed about his quick embarrassment. It had been a ceaseless issue, seemingly solved by nothing.

So the fact he'd just said _that_ and wasn't redder than a crayon was certainly something he needed to test later. Thoroughly. Because it would drive him nuts otherwise.

Erika cleared her throat. "Well, at least someone can stand to put up with her." She eyed him. "Did you knock her up?"

"What?" Hank choked, coughing on the tea he'd swallowed prematurely.

"What is a 'knock up?'" Kosei questioned, brow furrowing.

"Oh, God," Marion mumbled, scrubbing a hand down her face.

Erika smirked. "It means McCoy got Marion pregnant."

Hank continued coughing, Marion glaring at her sister. "Sorry to disappoint, but no."

The grandmother, Aemi, suddenly laughed. "Why not? He has big feet, so must have big penis."

Ah. There was the familiar red face.

_If the ground could open up and swallow me right now, that would be great._

Rion and Hayato let their heads rest in their hands, Kosei and Aemi laughing outright while Erika and Marion tried to stifle it. And poor, miserable Hank staring at the table and trying to talk himself out of jumping through the window.

* * *

"That went better than I expected," Marion commented as she hauled her suitcase through the large mansion doors. She'd only seen this behemoth of a house once before, when Hank met her family for the first time.

Hank didn't reply, staring at the ground resolutely as he dragged his suitcase inside.

"At least you got my father's blessing."

"But at what cost?" Hank responded dramatically, flashing her a stricken face before it morphed into a laughing grin.

Marion lightly smacked his arm, shaking her head as she laughed. "Oh, it could have been much worse. My grandmother is fond of tall white boys."

"What have I gotten myself into?" Hank wondered aloud.

"Well, if you're lucky, she'll die before long and she won't be practically molesting you because you're hot."

Hank made a face. "Your grandmother is… eccentric."

"She's senile, you can say it freely. So is my grandfather. I think all the elderly get that way eventually. Must be fun."

"For them, perhaps." He followed her upstairs. "Ink!" He called out. "We're here!"

The younger man appeared at the top of the second set of stairs. "Hey, Hank. Hey, Marion."

"How have things been?"

"Meh. Fine. We were going out for pizza at Angel's later, if you want to join us."

Marion flashed him a smile. "Sounds fun. You have plenty of quarters?"

Ink couldn't help his smile. "Of course I do. I'll be bankrupt because of that arcade."

"Waka waka waka waka," Hank muttered in an imitation of the famous hungry yellow circle.

* * *

Cecilia had to bow out of the dinner of cheap greasy pizza, too busy with "morons who'd gotten in stupid drunken mishaps." Thus, it was just the three of them as they pulled into a parking space of Angel's Pizza. Hank remembered when they'd first been introduced to the place, so many tons of years ago-it made him feel old-in 1962. They'd been a larger group then, not yet divided and deceased. Charles and Raven had happily greeting the owner, Angelo, who was quite fond of the Xavier siblings that had been coming to his restaurant since they were thirteen. Hank had found the man to be exceptionally kind, especially for the era, and had been outright shell shocked that he knew of Charles and Raven's mutations.

He was a nice old man in his sixties now, still running the place with the help of his children and grandchildren. Hank was among the few people who knew Charles quietly donated money to keep the place afloat during slower periods.

"Hey, Angelo," Ink greeted.

"Ah, Ink, always good to see you!" Angelo greeted warmly, then set eyes upon Hank and pulled him into a hug. "I haven't seen you in a while. How's Charles?"

"He's still managing the school," Hank replied, smiling fondly at the old man.

"And who is this?" Angelo held out his hand, Marion shaking it.

"Hank's fianceé."

"So you finally found someone who'll understand you and your brain? Good for you!"

Hank's face heated a little, though he predicted many opportunities for him to get embarrassed when he returned to Haifa and told Alex the news. "Thanks, Angelo."

"So you want just cheese? Pepperoni?"

"Both kinds. We'll take home leftovers."

"Excellent. I'll get it in the oven."

"Thanks, Angelo," Ink called after him, then raced over to the arcade section and straight to Pacman. The other two followed more slowly, Hank watching closely as an interested bystander while Marion and Ink swapped levels.

"We should go see a movie tomorrow or something."

"That'll be fun. What's playing here?"

"I'll go check," Hank offered, taking some quarters and walking outside to the newspaper box. Paying the fee, he grabbed a paper and peered at the movie titles. _Huh. Wonder what Indiana Jones is about..._ The night air was warm, with a slight nip in the air from the wind. However, he was rather sure the sudden rising hair on his neck and arms wasn't due to the wind. Turning to pretend to get some better light from the street lamppost, Hank reached up a hand to falsely scratch his nose, eyes darting around as he did so. Blue eyes catching on a car, he faked a sneeze and let his eyes take in more details of it before allowing his gaze to drop back to the paper.

Straining his nose, he sniffed, the scents of those in the car unfamiliar. There were three of them. He'd caught the tiny glint of the lamppost reflection off binocular lenses, which unsettled him more. Folding up the newsprint, Hank turned and went back inside, staying away from the windows as he went back to the arcade section. Keeping his voice low as a precaution against wiring, he leaned to Ink and Marion.

"There are at least three people outside. Watching us."

"Are you sure they're watching us? Maybe they're just having a smoke."

"Ink, they have binoculars and are sitting in a car."

"Oh." The younger man swallowed as he slipped and Pacman ran into a ghost. Abandoning the game, he stood up. "What do we do?"

Marion frowned. "They might come in and harass Angelo if we leave." Her eyes widened a fraction. "Hank, do you think…?"

"Call your parents with the payphone. Make an excuse that you forgot something at their house and you have to pick it up tomorrow."

She nodded, narrowing her eyes before her expression became one of a perfect actress's false cheer. She pretended to laugh as she stepped away from them and walked outside.

"Ink, go make an excuse to talk to Angelo and warn him."

"Got it." He approached the counter, calling out for Angelo and greeting the old man happily as they slipped back further into the kitchen.

Hank pretended to check his watch, feeling eyes suddenly on him. Straining his ears to the outside as he leaned against the wall close to the door, he listened to Marion's voice. The slam of a car door had him yanking open the door and onto the sidewalk in a few seconds, tackling the man running to Marion. Putting him in a headlock, Hank struggled to stamp down the Beast as it roared to be let out in order to rip these thugs a new one.

The two others were out of the car now, one pulling out a gun. Hank and Marion both dodged, the former having to lug around this other idiot. Growling, he threw the man in his grip at the other two, internally laughing when it hit the other man. The woman, however, fired at him, the bullet whizzing past his ear. Firing again and forcing Hank to move further from Marion, he cursed himself when he realized his mistake as the woman approached her.

Unfortunately for her, she was greeted with a spray of bear mace in her very open eyes and mouth. Screeching in pain as she fell to her knees, Marion stomped her foot against the woman's shoulder and beat on her temple with the can of mace, finally landing a roundhouse kick to her head to knock her out. Hank leaped to the two men who were starting to rise, beating them into the asphalt again and smacking their skulls together. Turning to Marion, Hank felt a strange pulling sensation in his head and eyes as they shifted to brown and blue again. It had been happening lately, whenever he got worked up but resisted Beast's raging call of seeking vengeance. Hair would turn blue, eyes would be yellow, and his teeth would sharpen a little.

"You alright?" Marion called.

"Thankfully." Standing up, he sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Let's grab Ink and get back to the house."

"Agreed."


	13. Diagnosis

_Just as a note, Charles and Gabrielle's reactions to David's "issue" are actually very inappropriate attitudes to have toward the condition and your child at all. I do not condone their attitudes, which are born out of ignorance, and sadly, their opinions are still very prevalent among people today._

* * *

_And I don't want the world to see me  
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand  
When everything's meant to be broken  
I just want you to know who I am  
– Goo Goo Dolls_

"Vati?" Lorna asked, coming to the room.

"Yes?"

"What are the holy books?"

"Depends on the religion." Erik laid aside his newspaper. "Quran for Islam, Torah for Judaism, Bible for Christianity-"

"What about Catholics?"

"It's a sect of Christianity."

"Oh."

"Buddhists do not have a book, so you'll have to do more digging to find their beliefs."

"What about the… um…" Lorna snapped her fingers trying to remember.

"Hindus?"

"Yeah!"

"There are more 'divine' books in Hinduism, like the Bhagavad Gita and Vedas."

"Why don't they have just one book?"

"Some people like having different texts to draw from. More organized that way, I think."

"What do atheists read?"

Erik chuckled. "Anything they like. I prefer The Once and Future King."

"What's that about?"

"The adventures of King Arthur and his associates."

"Can I read it?"

Erik pulled the book off the end table, handing it to her. "Go crazy, mein schatz."

"Thanks, Vati!" Lorna called over her shoulder as she ran from the room, book clutched in her hands.

He chuckled again as he picked up the newspaper. _I wonder what Indiana Jones is._

* * *

Gabrielle chuckled when she saw the white card with her name written on it in badly formed capital letters. Weaving her way through the throngs of people at the airport and shifting the bag on her shoulder, she stopped and hugged Alex.

"Like the sign? Made it myself."

"It's terrible," Gabrielle replied, causing the blond to laugh.

"Charles kept telling me that."

"I was right, wasn't I?" The telepath spoke up, wrapping his arms tightly around his wife. _I missed you._

They stayed like that for what was probably awkwardly long, though if Alex minded, there was no evidence on his face. The only reason they pulled apart, though, was for Gabrielle to sweep David suddenly into her arms and pepper his face with kisses. He squirmed, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck and burying his face in her neck.

"He's been asking me all day, 'When's Mama coming back?'"

Rubbing David's back, she passed her carry-on to Charles. "Only all day?"

Charles smiled. "Well, all week, I suppose."

Alex grabbed the right suitcase off the conveyor belt, recognizing it immediately after the man trips he made to pick Gabrielle up from the airport before. "I vote we stop at the i-c-e c-r-e-a-m place to celebrate Gabrielle's millionth return."

Charles grimaced. "We have it at home. Just eat that."

The blond frowned, but didn't argue as they loaded into the car. "Mama," David started as he tugged on Gabrielle's jacket, "Erik hit me."

"What?"

Charles quickly cut off anything David might have said, saying in a low voice, "We need to talk."

* * *

"What is it that needs discussing?" Gabrielle inquired, shutting the door softly behind them and locking it. There were so many things that needed attention, but too many to deal with at once. The long distance of their relationship, the struggle they were going through as husband and wife. Gabrielle's ambassadorial position for Israel. Charles's headmaster position for the school. Their son, their beautiful child who wasn't right, no matter how much they'd tried to correct whatever it was. It was like a missing piece with him, and they couldn't figure it out.

"David."

"Ah."

They sat across from each other, a tea tray on the coffee table between them. Charles gingerly lifted a cup to his lips, taking a sip of the tea he'd been preparing for the last several minutes.

"How did… the doctor's appointment go?"

The telepath rested his head in a weary hand. "They need to perform another test. They couldn't administer it because David wanted to leave after three tests."

Gabrielle swallowed. "When is it scheduled?"

"It would have been a month, but…" Charles grimaced and set his teacup down. "I… may have… resorted to bribery. It's… in a couple of days, now." He sighed. "Money buys anything. I couldn't think of anything else except waving a little cash in their faces so they'd see to David faster."

Gabrielle nodded, unable to disagree. Their son was the priority for them. They were desperate, by this point, to solve this issue before David grew too much older without the proper care he might be needing. They had to do everything in their power to ensure he'd become a priority for specialists and doctors and anyone who could help their son. "Do they have an idea of what it is?" Charles grew pale, and his wife leaned forward, concerned. "Charles?"

"I… the symptoms are there, but… it has to be something else. It _has _to be," Charles muttered, unable to meet her eyes as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"What _is_ _it_, Charles?" She persisted, stomach growing knotted as her mind raced through all the options. It wasn't physical… was it? No, no, cancer didn't cause things like this. Unless it was… in David's brain… Retardation of some kind? God, if that was it, what could they possibly do with him?

_Autism_, a voice ghosted through her head, Charles's eyes squeezed shut. The word was… foul. She knew what it was. It was a curse on people, to have a child with autism. This couldn't… it couldn't be that. David didn't act like that. He wasn't a terrifying hellion child who acted more like a wild animal than a boy. He could talk, eat, walk, and he was such a sweet boy. He laughed and smiled and was a happy _child_, not something acting possessed.

Their thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone. Gabrielle picked it up. "Xavier Institute, Gabrielle Haller speaking."

"_I need to speak to Charles. Immediately."_

"Hank? What's wrong?"

"_It's urgent."_

Passing the phone to Charles as he moved beside her, the telepath quickly put the receiver to his ear. "Hank?"

"_We have a problem. Three agents were tracking Ink, Marion, and I. Cecilia felt as though someone was following her last night as well."_

"CIA?"

"_They called themselves… the Friends of Humanity."_

The room instantly seemed colder, the hair on his neck and arms rising as the chill reached his bones. "Friends of… Humanity?"

"_Their assignment was to… register mutants in an unofficial database. They already have… have myself, Erik, Raven, and you. Alex as well, I think. Or Scott, I'm not sure which one they meant."_

"How did you get this information?"

"_We had to take them down and I interrogated them. I… um…" _Hank coughed. "_I might have gone a little far with the intimidation."_

Charles shook his head. "I'm sure you didn't do anything excessive." He paused, then spoke in a foreign tongue, completely unknown to even Gabrielle. It sounded… German, somewhat. But it couldn't be, there was too much else mixed in.

Hank responded in the same tongue.

"Right. Be careful," Charles cautioned, closing his eyes as he prayed to a God he didn't believe in that his closest friends would be safe.

"_I will. Goodbye, Charles."_

"Goodbye, Hank." Hanging up, the telepath sat back, raising two fingers to his temple. _Erik, could you grab Logan and Alex? I need you to… sniff around for a bit._

… _What?_

_Hank found agents of an organization against mutants. I need you to be sure there aren't any around here._

… _Ah. I'll let you know._ Erik's consciousness drifted outside, and Charles sighed.

"Why can't Erik be wrong for once?" He murmured, receiving a comforting hand rubbing his shoulder in reply.

* * *

She watched in silence from the doorway as David, Betsy, and Lorna trotted outside to the backyard, carrying a basket and backpack, with David clutching his stuffed rabbit tightly in his arms. He wasn't autistic. He couldn't be. Autistic children couldn't… play with others. David was always playing with the very young children, or following Scott and Ororo like a shadow.

Lorna carefully found footing on the large tree, pulling herself up with ease. She perched on a branch, lifting her binoculars up and peering around. "I think that's where the treasure is buried!" She called down, pointing at the shed.

David followed Betsy as she raced off to the shed, fumbling with the lock before getting it off using the key she'd politely asked Charles to borrow for a while, provided she didn't lose it-though Erik could find it in about five seconds, but she still needed to be responsible.

Gabrielle folded her arms as she watched David, still hugging his rabbit to his chest and watching Lorna and Betsy in silence. _He's fine, he's fine, he has to be fine._ David was standing further away from the girls, looking at the ground and twisting his body right to left as he fidgeted. It wasn't anything. It didn't mean anything. Nothing at all.

They stepped into the shed, Lorna pulling out a metal safe.

"How are we supposed to get it open?" Betsy asked.

"My dad can open it," Lorna replied confidently.

"Girls!" Gabrielle called, their heads turning. "Put that back in the shed!"

"But-"

"Put it back!" She repeated, watching as Lorna's shoulders slumped as she put the safe back in the dark shed. "Why don't you guys come inside?"

"Aw!" Betsy whined, crossing her arms.

"Can we play a board game?" Lorna inquired hopefully.

"Sure," Gabrielle responded, taking David's arm as he approached and lifting him into her arms. The toddler was thin, as he'd always been, so it was easy to carry him. "Why don't we have a snack as well?"

"I want apples and caramel!"

"Can I eat the container of feta?"

"Betsy, apples only. Lorna, no, you may not eat the feta."

They both looked disappointed, though Gabrielle's attention was more occupied with the boy in her arms. He was normally silent… but that didn't mean anything. She had to stop dissecting everything he did. He was fine. He didn't… he wasn't autistic. He couldn't be. If he was… there was no hope. There was no way he had autism.


	14. Threats Promised

_Hey, guys, I do put these author's notes here for a reason, not just blowing smoke up your arse to make you feel good you reviewed. I genuinely do appreciate reviews, and I especially do feel the need to warn when I think historically accurate content will be found offensive. I digress. Thank you to NotMarge and Phoenixhp5t3 for reviewing! Believe me, Charles and Gabrielle will **not** maintain their ignorant attitude towards David for long._

* * *

_No words to say, no words to convey  
This feeling inside I have for you  
Deep in my heart,  
Safe from the gods of intellect and reason  
_– _Tracy Chapman_

Mama and Dada were looking at him weird. Not like he'd done something bad… maybe. No, he didn't think that was it. He wasn't sure, though. Things were all weird lately. Nothing was right, like it was supposed to be.

First, Erik had hit him. He didn't want to go to bed. Why did he have to? Dada stayed up with him until he fell asleep. Dada didn't make him go to bed. But Erik made him go to bed and when he didn't want to, Erik hit him.

He wasn't sure, really, why that had happened. He hadn't been hit before. Not that he could remember, anyway. It was weird. He didn't like it.

Second, he had to go to the doctor. He didn't understand that either. Dada had told him he'd get a treat if he didn't throw a fit. David had tried. He really, honestly, had tried. He just got scared when they got to the doctor, and then he couldn't stop crying because he didn't want to see the doctor and get a shot.

He didn't have to get a shot. He got to play with toys and color. That wasn't so bad. He just didn't know what to do with the strange toys. Whose toys were those, anyway? Dada had made it clear those weren't his, so they had to belong to _someone_ if they weren't his. He hadn't really liked the toys, though. The doctor had told him not to play with the doll when he picked it up, but it was too floppy and anyway. He didn't like the doll much.

He _really_ liked Lorna and Betsy's dolls, though Lorna was always saying she was going to blow her dolls up or put them in the garbage disposal. Betsy had a doll that talked when you pulled the string on her back. Betsy told him the doll's name was Cathy, and he mustn't touch her, ever, or she'd tell on him to Dada. If only he could just hold Cathy for a little while. At least Lorna practically tossed her Barbies at him and told him to have fun.

One time, Erik came in and helped him set up the yellow and white house Lorna had for her dolls. David couldn't really get the tiny pieces in the exact right place he wanted, so Erik did it for him, though he complained a lot about the plastic. He really liked the piano that was in the box of Barbie stuff, though Erik reminded him to be careful with it. He barely touched it, because he wanted to be extra careful.

That was nice, playing with Lorna's toys. He liked his rabbit best, though. Eleanor's ears were all soft, and she was squishy enough that Dada let him sleep with her tucked under his arm. He wasn't allowed to sleep with the pull puppy. It was Dada's when he was little, a little puppy dog you could pull by a string. David didn't use it much because there was carpet almost everywhere, but he pulled the puppy behind him in the hallways and on the sidewalks. He took extra special care of the puppy, since it was Dada's, and he knew what happened if he didn't take care of his toys. He hated when one broke. He would cry and run to Dada to beg him to fix it. Dada would take him to Erik or Hank, and they would fix it somehow. He didn't know how, but he didn't care. So long as his toy was okay.

The toy he watched like a hawk, though, was kept in a very high shelf in Erik's bedroom. He followed Erik in there sometimes, and always pointed up at the toy and asked him about it. Erik always knew what he meant, so he didn't have to look up from sorting through his books or his briefcase when he answered. He said it belonged to his daughter. Then David would ask why Lorna didn't play with it. Erik would tell him it was his other daughter. David would ask what her name was. Erik would say her name had been Anya.

Then he'd ask where she was. Erik would always wait a minute before answering, and he'd look up at the toy, then look at David. Then he'd tell David she was in Heaven, and had been for many, many years.

"_How long?"_

_Erik gave a weak smile, walking over and ruffling David's hair. "Twenty-eight years."_

"_That's a long time."_

"_It is," Erik said softly, glancing back at the toy. A little doll, a gift for Anya when she turned five. Just a few weeks before he lost her forever._

David liked the doll. He didn't know if he'd ever get to play with her, but he liked to look at her on the shelf, all the same.

* * *

He'd pressed himself into the back of his closet. Wedging himself between his plastic drawers of toys and the wall, sitting on his shoes and having a sweater fall on him in the process, David shuddered.

He hated new people. They wanted to talk to him and ask him questions he didn't understand. They touched his hair and called him "squirt" and "short stuff" and he hated it. Dada loved the new people that came to their house. He didn't make David stay and talk to anyone, at least. It didn't help much, though. He ran to his room and hid until Mama came to drag him out for dinner.

"Dave?" A familiar, soft voice called out the nickname he protested but didn't mind so much when she said it.

"Ro," he whined, reaching up his arms when the tall girl opened the closet door.

She picked him up, huffing, and sat on his bed with him in her lap. She was nice. He loved Ororo. She did puzzles with him, snuck him cookie dough, got him out of having to eat vegetables, and let him watch when she drew chalk pictures on the driveway.

He touched her white hair, burying his face in her shoulder. She was twelve, and a lot older than he was. Ororo knew a lot more than he did, too.

"You know everyone is just mutants, right?"

David didn't feel better. Clutching at Ororo's bare arm, he whined. "I hate it."

"... You… You don't like new people, huh? Like… like I don't like humans."

He nodded, rubbing at his face. "It's scary."

"... Yeah. It is." Ororo slid him off onto his blankets, standing and turning to face him. "Humans hate us."

"Why?" He grabbed Eleanor, chewing on her ear absently.

"'Cause we're different." Crossing her arms, she frowned heavily. "The Professor and Gabrielle think they're good at keeping secrets, but they're not. They said something's wrong with you."

David lay back on his bed, spitting Eleanor's ear out of his mouth and staring up at the ceiling. He could always find shapes in the white dots. Mama said it was a popcorn ceiling. He wondered why popcorn was on the ceiling, and why no one was eating it yet.

"Nothing's wrong with you. Everyone's weird. You and I don't like people. Scott eats cold cheese out of the fridge." Ororo gestured with her hands. "The Professor and Mr. Lehnsherr play chess all the time. Rahne shaves her arms." She shrugged. "Want to do a puzzle?"

David sat up instantly. "Yeah!" He said excitedly, clambering off the bed. "Puzzle!"

Ororo grabbed one off the shelf, dumping the pieces out on David's small table. "Hello Kitty sound good?"

He didn't care what it was. He just liked doing puzzles. The tinier the pieces were, the more he liked it. He hated the big puzzle pieces. They were too easy and he could see it together in his head before he even put one piece down. That was boring. Dada and Mama got him a ton of puzzles with tiny pieces. He could spend forever and ever doing puzzles with Ororo.

* * *

"Scott, Ororo, could you come here for a moment?" Charles called.

The two ambled over obediently, looking curiously at the redheaded girl standing shyly next to Charles. "What is it, Professor?"

Scott and Ororo were good students. Good children, both of them. Scott was a soft spoken boy, keeping to himself mostly, though he was willing to interact with other people. He had his nose often stuck in a book, or, when he wasn't doing that, he was stuffing poptarts in his face and not at all feeling sorry about eating a whole box on his own. Ororo, with her quiet, yet fierce nature, was protective of Scott, despite being a little younger. She was also the sweetest girl with David and the other children. Charles loved them both dearly.

He had a feeling they would get on well with his newest arrival: Jean Grey. She was quiet, though that was due to her probing other people's minds more than a natural tendency to be silent. Charles was working on that, teaching Jean it was a rather rude thing to do, and having telepathy was a great responsibility that needed to be exercised with care. It was only the second day, though, so he considered it to already be good progress.

"This is Jean Grey. She's a new student here, and I want you to show her around and make sure she has everything she needs." The hint was easily caught by the two of them, as they'd been tasked with helping other new students before, and were used to befriending the ones who didn't mesh easily. No one felt alone with Scott and Ororo following them around.

"Sure thing." Ororo held out her hand for Jean to shake, smiling at the girl. "I'm Ororo. This is Scott. We'll be your tour guides."

Scott smiled shyly, and Charles inwardly chuckled. The boy was easily scared by unfamiliar girls, much like Hank. He offered his hand for Jean to shake as well, mumbling a quiet "hi" before they turned and lead Jean off through the house.

Turning the joystick on his chair arm, he started as he saw Erik had been standing behind him. "Ah, hello, my friend."

"Tag," Erik greeted, nodding at him. Tall, hands in his khaki pockets while in the security he found in being covered by a turtleneck, Erik was both confident and a figure worth being wary of. "Miss Grey seems to be getting along well already."

The telepath smiled. "I'm sure she'll settle in soon enough. Have you seen the others?"

"I believe Mr. Stryker is enthralled with Hank and Marion's laboratory." Erik paused. "And your son seems quite taken with Miss Ferguson."

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Really? He's not exactly keen on new people."

Erik chuckled as he nodded behind Charles. "I think Clarice is the exception."

He turned his head, eyes widening in surprise as he watched David and Clarice blow bubbles in the front yard, giggling at each other and taking turns with the bubble wand. Charles peered at them, seeing it was David's bottle of bubble soap he never shared with anyone, not even Ororo. For him to share it with Clarice… well, that was certainly a new development.

One that contradicted everything he'd begun to imagine David's life being, since hearing the final, official diagnosis.

"Get over yourself, Charles," Erik suddenly said, standing beside him.

"You don't understand what it's like."

"He's not some monster coming to get you." Erik looked down at his friend, and his eyes were suddenly blazing, though his face was carefully composed. "He's your child. You loved him before this. What's changed?"

"I… I do love him," Charles stammered, staring up at him in shock. "Why would you think I don't?"

Shaking his head minutely, he sighed quietly. "Treat him as he deserves. You're his father. Gabrielle is his mother." Erik turned to fully face him, their dark silhouettes outlined by the light streaming in through the window. "It is your responsibility to love him, damn all else."

Charles put a hand to his mouth, rubbing at his beard and closing his eyes. "He's different."

"No, he's not. And, please, don't make that argument to me, of all people." Erik shifted his gaze out the window again, watching David and Clarice laugh and play. "You do realize what a precarious position you and Gabrielle have put yourselves in, don't you?"

"... What?" He looked up, brow furrowing as he met Erik's eyes. There was a severity there, something he didn't like. At all.

The metal wielder allowed a bitter smile to play on his lips. "I seem to recall official paperwork stating that, in the event you and your wife suddenly became incapable of caring for David, I would be given full custody." Erik gestured lightly out the window. "You have grown rather incapable of taking care of him, it seems."

Charles narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn't."

"I would," Erik replied easily, the threat snarling at Charles and baring its poisonous fangs. Offering a final, self-assured smile to the telepath, he casually left Charles alone to his thoughts.

Alone with the knowledge that Erik would take David away with him. Should that happen… they would seem to vanish from the face of the Earth.


	15. Crazy

_It's been a long time since I updated, huh? I hit a road block on this one, but I gave the detour the finger and ran through the construction site. Thank you to Phoenixhp5t3 and NotMarge for reviewing! I'm completely flattered, and fortunately, flattery will get you everywhere. Thought you all would appreciate David's insight, since he's a sweet kid, and I wanted to dispel any lingering thoughts that he's a brat. Erik is my number one favorite character in the history of fiction for a reason. Also, please take the last very bit of this chapter as completely amusing. And don't ask. It's Peter.  
_

* * *

_Come on now, who do you think you are?  
Ha ha ha! Bless your soul!  
You really think you're in control.  
_– _Gnarls Barkley_

They were in Dada's office, Mama and Dada playing stuffed animals with him. They were having a tea party, since David always saw the grownups talking when they drank tea, and Dada said they talked about important things. Made sense his stuffed animals would discuss important things when they had tea.

"David?"

He looked up briefly from Eleanor, then turned his attention back to the rabbit with the teacup full of invisible tea. His real tea was in a porcelain teacup, which Dada helped him sip from. It had a lot of sugar, honey, and milk in it, which made it taste delicious. Like candy, or dessert, except he was allowed to have tea whenever he liked, without cleaning his plate like he had to do for dessert.

"You know Mommy and Daddy love you, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, not really paying attention. He grunted and pointed at his teacup, Dada picking it up and holding it to his lips for him to take a sip.

Mama suddenly pulled him into her lap, causing David to whine. He didn't want to sit in Mama's lap. Eleanor was far away from him now, and David whined louder, squirming and reaching out to his rabbit. Mama handed the rabbit to him, his arms wrapping around Eleanor like a vice.

"David," Dada started, leaning forward, "If you had to go live with Erik for a while, would you be upset?"

His brow wrinkled as he looked up at his father, not understanding.

Mama ran her fingers gently through his hair. "David, we need you to go live with Erik for a little while. Just until Daddy and I sort some things out."

"I can sort stuff," he said, hoping to help his mother with whatever she needed.

Mama chuckled and kissed his forehead. "No, this is something a grownup needs to sort."

His bottom lip jutted out, disappointment overtaking him before he focused on Eleanor again, chewing absently on her ear.

"Darling, your mother and I love you more than we could put into words." Dada rubbed his hands together, like he did when he was thinking. "Which is why you, Erik, Lorna, and Peter are going to go live somewhere else for a time. Then you can all come back and see Mommy and I again. Yeah?"

David blinked. "I won't see you?"

"No, lovey, not for a while." Mama suddenly stiffened as David let out a shrill scream that devolved into sobs, fingers desperately grabbing at her shirt.

"No, Mama, no, don't leave! Don't leave, Mama! No, no, no!" He cried out in a shrieking pitch, body trembling as he wrapped his arms around his mother's neck. She held him closely, moving around the small table so Charles could rub David's back and help soothe him. Give their son time to process and grieve, so he would be alright to go with Erik when the time came.

It was for the best.

* * *

Folding another small shirt, he carefully placed it in the suitcase, almost reverently. Staring at the blue and red striped cloth slightly rumpled as it rested among the other colorful clothes David possessed, Charles swallowed before flipping the top down over it and zipping the suitcase shut.

The small boy had a GI Joe action figure in each of his small hands, moving them across the floor in front of his crossed legs. His face was decidedly glum, and he looked up when his father approached.

They stared at each other for a long moment, perfectly matching crystal blue eyes peering into the other's soul. Charles breathed slowly, in and out, before holding out his arms. The GI Joes were dropped, plastic clattering on the wood floor as David scrambled into his father's lap. Pressing a soft kiss on his son's forehead, the telepath maintained a strong, almost squeezing grip on David's small body. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to cry in front of the boy. It would only distress him.

Finally, David pulled back, oddly grasping his father's face between his warm palms. His eyes spoke of his inner turmoil, something a boy his age shouldn't even have, as he opened his mouth. "Do I have to go?" He asked in a small voice.

"I'm afraid so, darling," Charles replied gently, hugging him again when David's lip quivered. "But… you'll have lots of fun with Erik, Lorna, and Peter. You'll play games and see the sights in Europe. And before you know it, you'll see your mother and I again."

"I will?" David sniffled.

"Absolutely," Charles reassured, though he could feel his own heart wrenching. "It's not forever. You'll see us soon. Think of it as a vacation."

"Oh." David rubbed at his eyes, sniffling again.

"Listen to me." The telepath carefully grasped David's face in his hands, trying to instill comfort in him through that touch. Knowing David wouldn't fully understand what he was about to say, he still spoke with confidence and firmness, ensuring his son's mind and anxieties would be lessened. "I'm not leaving you. I'm not. You're going to go away with Erik and spend some time with him. I'm going to do some research while you're gone, so that we can deal with some things."

"What things?" David asked in a quiet voice, somehow understanding the gravity of the situation.

"Like… like how you and I aren't very good at listening to each other," Charles said softly. "Like how sometimes we get frustrated with each other and so we get upset."

"Oh."

"So I'm going to read and figure out how to fix all that. When you come back, everything will be better."

"Dada."

Charles leaned his head down and kissed David's hair. "What is it?"

"I love you."

His heart was suddenly in his throat, and he couldn't breathe. David squeaked when his father's arms held him close so suddenly, the telepath shutting his eyes to stave off the sudden tears. He wasn't abandoning his son. He had to remind himself of that. He wasn't doing the same thing that had been done to him all through his life. He was sending his child away with someone he trusted now, and would make sure things were better when David returned.

Because, goddammit, it was a "when." David would return. David would see his father again and everything would be alright.

Reaching out gently with tendrils of his mind, Charles kept his breathing slow as he petted David's soft curly hair and gently planted a phrase in his mind, along with the sensation of a blown kiss. _I love you too._

* * *

"I just don't get it."

"What don't you get?" Erik shoved his hands down with all force possible, ensuring the clothes would stay put in the suitcase as he speedily shut it.

Peter shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well… no, I guess… maybe I do? I don't know."

"About what?"

"I don't know, it's weird, 'cause, like… this whole thing is just…"

"Pietro," Erik growled, urging him to spit it out. He only used the boy's given name, the one Erik had bestowed upon him at birth, when his son proved irritating or needing a good verbal cuff on the ears.

Peter's face suddenly twisted, and before Erik could blink, his suitcase landed with a thump on the floor. The lamp clattered as it landed on the floor, crunching under the weight of the upended chest of drawers. Papers from Erik's desk were shredded or just scattered around the room, the few things left in the closet thrown out to be strewn on the floor.

The silver-haired man abruptly stopped in front of Erik, face marred by a snarl as he pulled his fist back and landed a solid blow on his father's cheek.

Erik blinked from where he was slumped against the bed, though he had no time to recover as Peter pulled him to his feet and shoved him to the wall by his shirt collar. Hissing, Peter's brown eyes-like his mother, Erik was reminded with a grimace-narrowed dangerously as he leaned forward, breath hot on Erik's face.

"I know how David feels, okay? You abandoned me just like the Professor is doing to him. You think it's okay 'cause I don't even remember you, but it's just… it's not…" Peter made a disgusted noise and let go, swiftly backing away. "It's fucking _not_ okay! You _left_ me! You don't think I'm messed up or anything? Go ahead! Think it all you want! I _am_ screwed up because you left me!"

His form blurred imperceptibly, then disappeared and was found sitting hunched over on the edge of the bed, head in his hands as he sobbed. "I want to hate you. You care about me now, but you still left me." Peter shook. "I try to ignore it. It's not like it even matters that much. People've got it worse than me. But I just…" He gestured aimlessly, swallowing with difficulty. "I just… Just fucking say sorry, okay? You owe me that much. You left me when I couldn't even remember you and then didn't even bother to know me for years." Crossing his arms, Peter looked far smaller than he should as he curled in on himself, sniffing as he tried to regain his cool, smooth composure.

Erik stood over him, considering the man who was his son for a moment. "You've tried to ignore how you feel."

A nod.

"You might've said something before."

"Don't try to turn this on me," Peter mumbled.

Sighing, Erik perched next to the silver-haired man. "Pietro, you're not ruined by me leaving. I know you're attached to me, but it didn't ruin you."

"Yes it did-"

"Sh." Peter closed his mouth, looking hurt. "You're far too strong for it to have hurt you as much as you believe. You rebound quicker- Sh." Erik hushed him again at the small snicker Peter couldn't help at the mention of speed. "Quicker than anyone I've known to be capable. Your ability to move past things isn't a defense mechanism, it's merely your strength."

"So now my power is being strong too?"

Erik rubbed his forehead. "Sure. Fine. You just proved my point."

Peter grinned. "Hey, I'm not Quicksilver for nothing. I'm the best person to have a fight with. Look at us." He spread his arms. "We had a fight in, like, five minutes, and I'm already over it." He nudged Erik with his shoulder. "Lighten up."

The metal bender snorted and shook his head, a fond smile on his face. "You're stronger than me, in that regard."

"I have one more question."

"You want to know why I left."

A silent nod, accompanied by a curious gaze.

Erik shifted, turning to better face Peter. "I left after your first birthday. Since before I met your mother, I had been… working for the CIA, in relation to my specialty with hunting."

"Hunting Nazis."

"Yes." Considering for a moment, he decided against giving Peter the long version. "I was also working for the Israeli secret service at the time. The CIA was displeased that I provided my intel and kills to Mossad, so they began to threaten me. I have no qualms about being threatened." His face darkened. "Then they informed me I would either cooperate, or they would, in no uncertain terms, have dire consequences for you and your mother."

Peter whistled. "Damn."

"So I resigned and left," Erik finished, albeit lamely. "I had already lost one wife and child to those in power. I was unwilling to have history repeat itself."

The boy was quiet for several minutes, face changing as he nodded, seeming to talk to himself in his head. "You know… I guess that's a pretty good reason to leave. How… why couldn't you just bash in some skulls, though? I mean, I've seen what your power's like."

Erik smiled ruefully. "Much as you dislike Charles at the moment, he was the one to help me reach my full potential. I doubt I could have protected you adequately, then."

Peter flashed to a standing position, stretching. "Well, at least now you just have to protect Lorna. I can take care of myself." He grinned easily, despite the heaviness of their previous conversation.

"I wouldn't want to protect you now. You're too irritating for me to desire to prolong your life."

He received a slap on the shoulder, unable to retaliate due to Peter suddenly being on the other side of the room. "Ass."

"Delinquent. Could you straighten everything? I'd rather not return in a few months' time to something I need to clean."

"Yeah, yeah." Peter became invisible, the only evidence he was still in the room being that every time Erik blinked, something was picked up and placed neatly as it had been.

"Thank you."

"For my services, I get to bring Ding Dongs in the snack bag."

"You're the one who made the room look like a hurricane had been hit."

Peter shrugged. "Fine, guess I'm not going."

"You'll go or you'll have Lorna dragging you by the ear all the way to Germany."

"Duuuude, seriously, just let me bring Ding Dongs and we can be at peace."

Erik sighed heavily. "Fine."

He didn't expect Peter to appear in front of him, pull his face down, and kiss him on the lips. He pulled back, grinning at Erik's utter shock, and laughed. "You know how people are always, like, 'man, I could kiss you' when someone does something nice? I figure I'd actually do it, see what all the fuss is about." He suddenly wiped his tongue on his sleeve. "You taste like scotch and old pennies. Gross."

Erik's eye twitched, and he stood frozen as a statue long after Peter flitted downstairs.

No, he wasn't dreaming. His son had frenched him just because Peter was an idiot.

What… what was life? More specifically, what was _his_ life?


	16. Interlude

_This is where I tell you the sequel, detailing the events of Apocalypse in 1983, will be coming out shortly. Now, Hope is finished. Watch out for "Knoweth No Man," coming soon to a theater (fanfiction posting) near you! _

* * *

_Watching the sequence of sounds  
Coming out of your mouth.  
But the snow is too loud  
_– _Sia_

"Hello, Hank," Dada's voice greeted as the front door opened, two shadows blocking the light from the sun behind them.

David looked up from where Mama was zipping his jacket, Eleanor dangling from his hand by one paw and dragging along the wood floorboards. "Uncle Hank!" He screeched, darting away before Mama could grab him and swiftly wrapping his arms and legs around Hank's long leg.

Hank managed not to stagger, using the suitcase to counterbalance himself so he wouldn't fall from the toddler's weight. "Hello, there, David." Digging a hand into his pants pocket, he reached down his upturned hand for the boy to see, slowly uncurling his fingers to reveal the small foil wrapped chocolate in his palm.

Grinning, David picked it out of Hank's hand and unwrapped it, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing it up happily. Climbing off his uncle's leg, David reached his arms up expectantly for his newly appeared mother. She scooped him into her arms, settling him on her hip with Eleanor the bunny squished between them.

"How was your trip?" Charles inquired, avoiding the earlier phone discussion they'd had of the real outcome of the trip.

"Fine," Marion answered as Hank momentarily became lost for words. "We have excellent news to couple the negative, however."

"Oh?" Erik raised an eyebrow, turning briefly away from the pair as Lorna tromped downstairs, duffel bag thumping on each step as she dragged it behind her.

"We're officially engaged to be married next year," Hank announced with more than a slight bit of pride, a dazedly happy look in his eyes. There were cheers and congratulations around the foyer's occupants, though it was broken by Alex grabbing Hank and lifting him up in a bear hug.

"See, now, you can pick on _me_ for being a virgin." Alex set him down and nudged him with his elbow, Hank rolling his eyes and impolitely shoving his friend away with one hand.

"So next year? When?" Scott and Ororo eagerly asked almost in unison.

"In the summer, but not outside," Hank quickly informed them.

"Why summer?"

"School's out, less things to deal with that way."

Marion and Hank cast a cursory glance over the pile of luggage in the entryway, frowning. "Someone going somewhere?"

Charles and Gabrielle shared a look before giving weak smiles for David's benefit. "Yes, David is going to stay with Erik in Germany for a while so we can sort some things out."

_I'll explain later_, Charles's voice ghosted through Hank and Marion's heads, earning a subtle nod from each of them.

David's grip knowingly tightened like a vice, giving Gabrielle bruises. "David, come on, let's put you in the car," she coaxed, voice soft and soothing as he whimpered and shook his head.

He didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave Mama and Dada. He had to stay, he didn't want to leave them, not ever. Letting a long wail as tears began to spring down his cheeks, he faintly heard his father's voice saying "Give him to me" before he was passed to the man's strong grip. He could feel himself moving, but didn't care to look in favor of pressing his face into Charles's cardigan, very loudly expressing his desire to stay.

"Dada, please, I don't wanna go," David cried, fingers tightening on the navy blue fabric.

"Sh," his father soothed, his fingers brushing lightly along his face in a repetitive motion. David looked up in confusion when his father's two fingers stopped on his temple, eyes wide in curiosity as he stared into the matching blue of his father's. His eyelids suddenly drooped, drowsiness coming unexpectedly and giving him no time to notice his father's face twist with grief as the boy collapsed against his shoulder, his last act to bring his hand up to suck on his finger before he fell asleep entirely.

Charles and Gabrielle waved Erik, Pietro, and Lorna off as they climbed into the car, David fast asleep with his head in Lorna's lap in the backseat. Charles buried his face in his hands, all his effort poured into maintaining the rest of his composure and avoiding tears as he moaned once. He'd betrayed his son. He'd put David to sleep and would let him wake up somewhere he didn't know, even if it was with people who would care for him. He'd violated the trust he'd created with others, as a telepath, having put David to sleep unwillingly to avoid him screaming and needing to be yanked away.

He would do better. He would take care of those under his watch and show them all the love they wouldn't otherwise get. He would embrace his son, all his faults and strengths, and be the parent he'd longed for in his mother. Going forward, he would do better. He wouldn't allow himself any less.


End file.
